One Call Away
by GhostInTheBAU
Summary: When Reid's boyfriend attacks him, leaving him broken and bleeding, he calls the first person he thinks of for help. He calls the only person he really wants to see. He calls Hotch. Reid/OMC, Eventual Reid/Hotch. Slow burn. Warnings: Non-Con, Graphic Violence, Domestic Abuse, Reid Whump. COMPLETE.
1. Everything's Fine

**_Warnings : Dubious Consent, Rape/Non-Con, Domestic Violence, Rape Recovery, Reid Whump, Slow Burn, Hurt Spencer, Protective Aaron, PTSD, Slash, Explicit Sexual Content (Consensual)_**

 ** _Rating: EXPLICIT_**

 _Spencer Reid/Original Male Character, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid_

 _The chapters will get much, much longer as the story progresses. Also, this fic is completely written, I'm just editing the chapters as I go. It's quite long, 32 chapters in total._

 _This story was greatly inspired by the song **One Call Away** by Charlie Puth, and also from personal experience. _

_I've made an art banner for this story if anyone's interested: "Crystal Blue" It can be found over on Archive of Our Own under GhostInTheBAU. The link's on my FF profile page. :)_

 _I always write to music, so I've also created a playlist of all the songs that have inspired this story. This fic is a roller coaster of emotions, and so is the music. If you're interested, I've added the youtube link to the list on my profile page. Just delete the spaces._

 _Reid's kind of broken at the beginning of this; but don't worry, he's not gonna stay that way. He's in an abusive relationship, though, and it gets rather nasty before he gets out. His partner says and does some pretty horrible things, so be prepared. Like I mentioned in the summary, the actual rape scenes are not very detailed. The violence, however, is. There will also be a great deal of immediate aftermath from the attack, along with Reid's recovery and many violent flashbacks. Take care while reading._

* * *

Chapter One

Everything's Fine

.

 ** _I'm only one call away.  
I'll be there to save the day.  
Superman got nothing on me.  
I'm only one call away._**

 ** _\- Charlie Puth_**

.

The vibrations from the music shook the table, the laser lights had him seeing spots and the thick smoke swirling around in the air had his eyes watering. This really wasn't the kind of place he was used to; the exact opposite, actually. It wasn't the kind of scene the team usually frequented, either. They generally enjoyed a more subdued atmosphere, one where you could hear the conversations around you and you didn't have to shout over the music. Morgan and Garcia had wanted to try something a little bit different tonight, though, and everyone had kind of followed their lead. It had been a stressful case and they all just wanted to unwind, let loose and have some fun. And now he was sitting on a stool at a small high top table at the edge of a dance floor full of heaving, gyrating bodies.

Fun was relative.

It was certainly enjoyable for Morgan and Prentiss, who'd been alternating between standing at the table trying to drink each other under it and dragging complete strangers out to dance. JJ and Garcia seemed to be quite content with people watching from afar, their giggling increasing with each new and colorful cocktail they ordered. Rossi was happy to be the godfather of the group, sitting off in a back corner booth with a bottle of scotch and a cigar as he scanned the space. Hotch was being the dad, walking around the bar and touching base with everyone now and then; making sure no one was getting into too much trouble. And what was he doing? He'd just been sitting at the table nursing his second glass of ginger ale. He wasn't a big drinker, and having alcohol on his breath wasn't something he wanted to try to explain later. He'd already have to figure out a reason why his clothes smelled like smoke, he didn't need to stumble into the house smelling like a brewery as well.

So, this didn't exactly qualify as particularly fun in Spencer's book, but it was still probably better than being at home. He glanced back down to his watch and studied it carefully. It was getting late; and the later it got the more nervous he grew.

"You know, you've been starin' at that thing all night Pretty Boy." He looked up and saw Morgan leaning against the table, a beer in one hand and a cheesy grin plastered on his face. "You want me to get you a refill?" he yelled over the noise, nodding to Reid's half empty glass.

"Oh, no. I don't think so." He shook his head and started to get out of his chair, "Um, you know I think I'm just gonna go find the restroom and then head home."

"But the night's still young!" Morgan urged, "And we hardly hang out anymore, Kid."

That was true. He hadn't spent much time with the team outside of work recently, but that's why he'd come out tonight. "We'll hang out again soon," he assured, then moved toward the exit, waving at Morgan on his way.

He didn't get very far, though, before a hand was on his arm stopping him and he turned to see Hotch standing behind him. "Remember, Reid, the team's on stand down for the weekend," the Unit Chief gave him a rare smile that had his heart fluttering just a bit while the man's hand lingered on his arm, "After that case, we need it. Get some rest."

"Okay." He gave his boss and his friend both a quick nod, "Just tell the others I'll see them on Monday."

He turned back toward the exit, his eyes scanning the space in search of a bathroom. When they landed on a neon sign he quickly darted through the throng of sweaty patrons, narrowly escaping a very inebriated woman in a red skin-tight dress and black six inch heels that was trying to pull him into a dance. He threw the door open and ducked into the men's room, half expecting the lady to follow him. When she didn't, he breathed a sigh of relief, then looked around and was pleasantly surprised to find that he was the only person in the room. It was refreshing. Being in a crowd of strangers was never easy for him and his body was feeling the stress of the close quarters. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, taking a few deep and calming breaths as he tried to collect himself...

.

" _How long are you gonna be gone this time?" Parker stood in front of the bed and watched as Spencer packed up his go-bag. "Am I just supposed to be okay with you traipsing around the country with those people all the fucking time, Spence?"_

 _They had this argument every time he had to go out of town for work. But Parker had known what he did for a living long before they'd even started to date, so he didn't understand why the man had such a hard time with his ever changing schedule; or why he seemed so angry every time he was called away on a case._

" _You know that I have no idea how long it'll take. It all depends on how the case goes." He threw one last pair of socks in his bag and zipped it up, leaving it sitting on the edge of the bed as he turned to his boyfriend, "And I don't 'traipse' around. This isn't a vacation for me...it's not fun. My team stops murderers. What we do is important."_

 _Before he knew what hit him, Spencer's back was slammed hard against the wall, sending a jolt of pain radiating down his spine as his wrists were pinned on either side of his head. Parker's grip was crushing around his arms, and his hands quickly grew numb. He let out a soft whimper as piercing blue eyes bore down on him through shaggy brown hair, then a low voice snarled, "Are you saying I'm not important?"_

" _No," he shook his head, trying to keep his own voice steady even though he was trembling from the pain, "Park, please..."_

.

Spencer's body jerked as he came hurling out of the memory, rapidly realizing where he was. He took a deep breath and swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat, then moved over to the sink, turning the water on and splashing some across his face to try to clear his mind. He could feel his hands shaking and he hated it. He was always so jumpy; always so on edge. He looked up into the mirror and cringed at the sight the greeted him. He didn't look particularly good. He'd always been pale, but right now he looked sickly...and he kind of felt it, too. The dark circles under his eyes had their own dark circles and he knew he'd lost some weight over the last several months. He'd never been a big eater, but recently his appetite had waned even more. None of the team had said anything to him about his appearance, though, and he wondered if that was because they hadn't noticed or didn't really care. Maybe the only reason his team hung out with him was because they kind of had to.

That's what he'd been told over and over, and it made sense in a way. He was awkward and gangly and annoying. Those traits tended to be rather off-putting for most normal people. He was lucky he'd found anyone who wanted to be with him enough to put up with all his weird and bizarre quirks. Parker loved him for who he was, flaws and all. The man just had a little bit of a temper now and then, because he missed him...

.

" _Park, please...you're hurting me."_

 _Immediately the grip on his wrists eased up and Parker's voice softened, "I'm sorry." The man backed up just a tad and then completely released Reid's hands, placing his own palms flat on either side of Spencer's head, boxing him in against the wall. "I'm just gonna miss you so much, Spence," he cooed, "I absolutely hate it when you go away and leave me here."_

" _I'm sorry," he started, trying to ignore the trapped feeling in his gut from the close proximity, "But you know it's just part of the job. I wish I didn't have to go."_

" _I know..." Parker moved closer, pushing right up against him and making his arousal extremely evident. "And I also know how you can make it up to me," he whispered. One hand moved to tangle in Reid's hair, gently pulling back on the strands until his head was pinned against the wall. "You can give me something to keep me satisfied until you get back." There was hot breath on his cheek, then lips were right up against his own, murmuring, "Let me fuck you, Spence."_

 _Park's mouth crashed against his and he gasped, a tongue shoving deep inside when his lips parted. Hips moved forward, rocking hard flesh into hardening flesh, and he moaned at the tiny spark of pleasure that shot through him. He didn't want this, truly he didn't, but his body always seemed to respond anyway. Sometimes it just felt easier for him to go along with it rather than risk a huge argument, or possibly worse. Parker had never really physically hurt him, not on purpose, but sometimes accidents happened. Sometimes he'd say or do the wrong thing and it would set the other man off. Parker's temper was on a short fuse at times, especially when Reid questioned or opposed him. He needed to be careful, but they really didn't have time for this right now. "There's...not a lot of time. I need to get to the jet—"_

 _The hand in his hair tightened exponentially, then yanked, and he cried out as his head was forced further into the wall._

" _Oh, this won't take long, baby," Parker growled in his ear, "Promise."_

" _Okay," he shuddered. He just needed to get through it, "O-Okay..."_

.

He jumped when he heard the squeak of the door opening, then quickly turned the water off. He hadn't realized it had been running the entire time he'd been spaced out. Grabbing a paper towel, he patted his face dry and looked back into the mirror, immediately freezing at the sight that greeted him. SSA Aaron Hotchner was staring right back at him through the reflection, his signature glare firmly in place. Great. Just great.

"Reid, are you alright?" The voice was much softer than he'd expected. The tone didn't exactly meet up with the man's harsh facial expression and it had Spencer turning around to look at him with his own eyes instead of the mirror's. He sounded worried, maybe? Or concerned? "I thought you'd already left."

"Um, yeah, I just—I had to stop in here first. But I really do need to get home."

He moved to pass his boss, but was stopped with another gentle hand to his arm. Two times in one night he'd warranted actual physical touch from Hotch, and he couldn't help but lean into the connection just a little more. He hoped the movement went unnoticed.

"Are you sure everything's good?"

Spencer looked him in the eyes and marveled at how soft and warm they appeared. It was like he was a completely different person right now; instead of seeing the stoic, cold and put together SSA Hotchner he was looking at the loving, caring and kind Aaron. Just Aaron. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and fought against the sudden desire to wrap his arms fully around the man in front of him, wanting to cling to him for dear life. "Um, yeah," he mumbled instead, "Everything's fine."

"Because you look tired."

"Oh, gee thanks," a tiny laugh escaped him, "That was a very nice way of saying that I look like shit." As soon as the words left his mouth, Reid shrunk back in utter mortification. "Oh my god. I-I'm so—so so sorry," he stammered, brows furrowing, "I didn't mean that, Hotch. I'm sorry!"

"It's okay, Reid." Aaron let go of his arm and gave him a small grin, "And just for the record, I don't think you look like shit."

He just stood there staring at Hotch, wide-eyed and mouth slightly ajar. Did his boss just curse in front of him? He didn't know if he'd ever actually heard Hotch cuss. It was odd and amazing.

"Look, Reid," he continued, voice gentle and soft, "If you ever need anything, please know that I'm only one call away. Day or night. Even if you just need a friend to talk to."

Oh if only he could talk to him. If only he could tell him what was going on in his head...and in his home. But there was no way he could actually talk to Hotch about any of his issues. The man was his _boss._ Apparently he was his friend, too, if Hotch was telling the truth about that bit. But if he ever found out that Reid was letting someone manipulate him, hurt him, _own_ him...he would probably look at him with disgust, or worse...with pity. If Aaron knew what Reid had let happen to him at home there's no way he'd be able to look the man in the eyes again. He was just too ashamed of it all.

Also, if Hotch ever found out how Reid truly felt, about him, that would most definitely destroy anything they had going for them right now. Hotch was definitely not gay, and he wouldn't be able to remain friends with a man that clearly had feelings for him. There would be no more friendship. He could possibly even lose his job. Everything could be taken away from him, and he didn't know if he could deal with that. He didn't know if he could handle losing the only good things he still had in his life. He didn't know if he could survive losing Hotch.

"Thanks, Hotch," he croaked, "But I'm fine. Really. Everything's fine. I'll see you Monday."

Swiftly, he turned and bolted through the door before Aaron could get another word in. He'd been gone way too long, and he really needed to get home.

* * *

Hotch watched Reid leave the bathroom and had to fight the almost overpowering urge to run after him. The younger man hadn't been himself for a while now, and Aaron knew there was something going on with him. Spencer had always been a little shy and awkward, but for the last several months he'd been withdrawn, quiet and nervous, even around the team. That was out of character for him. They hardly ever saw him outside of work, and Hotch had been quite surprised that he'd even agreed to come out with them tonight.

It was obvious something was bothering the genius, and it had been for quite some time. Pretty much since he'd moved in with his boyfriend; the timeline fit that scenario. Hotch shuddered at the thought of Reid being with some other man. The idea didn't disturb him because he thought there was something wrong with being gay; it was quite the opposite, really. He was upset because Spencer wasn't with _him._ And he was concerned because this man, Parker Simmons, never socialized with the team, and that behavior appeared to be rubbing off on Reid. Spencer had stopped coming around outside of work, and it felt off to him, like this guy was deliberately trying to isolate the young doctor.

Hotch had this sinking feeling that Reid needed to get out of his current situation, but the genius hadn't asked for any help. He'd always just said that everything was fine; always said that _he_ was fine. Spencer was a grown man, and Aaron couldn't just barge into his life and make it all better, no matter how much he'd like to. At least, not unless Reid asked him to.

He'd always tried to keep things professional between him and the other members of his team; but sometimes, like tonight, he just wanted to say 'to hell with it all' and pull Reid into his arms and never let him go. It had been a physical ache at times, and he'd given into the desire on a few occasions. Like after Georgia. He'd almost broke down then, seeing Spencer tied to a chair and beaten, watching him die. That's when he'd truly realized how much he cared for Reid.

For years now he'd harbored feelings for the younger man, but he'd never acted on them outside of a hug now and then when it was obvious Spencer was hurting or scared. And that's exactly what Aaron believed was happening right now. Something was very wrong, but he was doing everything in his power to stay out of Reid's business.

Even as his mind screamed at him to do the exact opposite.

.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. This story's going to be a bit different from what I normally write (a lot more of the comfort aspect of hurt/comfort), and I'm kinda nervous about it. I'd like to see if there's enough interest to post here, so please let me know if you'd like to read more._


	2. Forgive Me

_Thank you to everyone who left comments, followed and favorited this story. It's helped keep me motivated. Once the entire first draft is finished I hope to update a little more frequently.  
_

* * *

Chapter Two

Forgive Me

.

Spencer pulled his blue Volvo into the driveway of his home, the house he shared with Parker Simmons. Parker's Civic was there, so he knew the man was there as well; and that's when he realized once again that he couldn't go in reeking of cigarette smoke. That would be an obvious sign that he hadn't come straight home from the case. If he could, he would very much like to keep that little bit of information to himself. So before he got out he reached into the back seat and grabbed his go-bag, opening it and pulling a clean dress shirt and sweater vest from the top. Quickly, he unbuttoned his blue shirt and stuffed it in his bag, then slid into the lilac one. The color choice was deliberate; Parker always liked him in purple. When he'd finished buttoning it up, he put the gray vest on and looked at the clock.

12:25 am.

He'd spent more time at the club than he'd initially planned. Of course, he hadn't anticipated having a tiny breakdown in the bathroom. He was getting home much later than he'd expected. Park could very well already be asleep by now, and just the thought of that possibility had his body relaxing somewhat. He really didn't want to have a fight, and coming in this late was sure to cause exactly that...even if the jet _had_ just landed. Which it hadn't. It had arrived two and a half hours before; not that he was planning on surrendering that information, ever. No, all he wanted to do was get inside and go to bed.

He flung his go-bag over his shoulder, grabbed his messenger bag and stepped out of the car, locking it with the fob as he walked up to the front door. He'd secured his service weapon in the gun safe in his trunk before going to the bar. It would be okay there for now and he'd get it tomorrow. It's not like he'd need it over the weekend; the team was on stand down.

When he stepped into the house the living room was flooded in light Parker was sitting on the couch with an open bottle of beer in his hand. So much for going straight to bed. He hated when the other man drank, and there was no telling how many he'd already had. Slowly Spencer turned to him, his mind on edge and his body immediately tensing as he sat his bags down on the coffee table. "Hey."

Parker sat the bottle down on the table as well and stood, glancing at the digital display on the cable box, "It's late, Spence." His voice was tired and groggy.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. We ah, just got in, so..." He trailed off as he watched the other man move closer to him, and he had to fight the strong impulse to back away. The way things had gone before he'd left for the case had him nervous and skittish. He hoped his lie was a convincing one because he most certainly didn't want a repeat performance.

He managed to remain in place, and Parker brought his hands up to gently rub along his arms as he looked down at him. He was taller than Spencer, but only by a couple inches. They were both built about the same, although Park had a lot more muscle to him. His hair was a tad shorter and much darker, but just as shaggy; and his face held the same sharp lines and angles, just a couple years older. He was undeniably attractive. Some might even call him pretty, although Reid had said that to him once and immediately regretted it. He wondered what someone so gorgeous could possibly even see in him. The man could have anyone he wanted.

Trying to put that thought out of his mind, Spencer looked up and met Parker's gaze, instantly melting into his eyes. Those eyes were one of the first things he had noticed about Parker Simmons when he'd walked into his book shop for the first time almost a year ago. He had the most stunning and amazing crystal blue eyes. Hesitantly, he asked, "Have you, um, been drinking?"

"No," was the soft reply, and then, "I mean, just what's out of the bottle." He gestured behind him, then moved his hand down, threading his fingers with Reid's and pulling him toward the couch, "You look tired. Come on, sit down with me."

Spencer let himself be directed to the sofa and he sat at the far end while Parker took the other side. There was a safe distance between them this way. He thought maybe he should try to further explain why he was so late getting in, but before he could even get a word out his feet were lifted up into Parker's lap. The man made fast work of removing his shoes to reveal a pair of mismatched socks, one blue with cybermen on them and one white with tally marks. There was a soft chuckle and then hands were massaging his soles and Spencer closed his eyes, groaning at the feel of it. Parker had nice hands. Parker had nice everything, really...and he was _being_ so nice right now as well. It was throwing him for a loop. Park was acting like he used to, gentle and kind and sweet.

"How was the case?"

"Hm?" it took his mind a moment to registered the question. "It wasn't great," he finally answered with a sigh, "But we did catch the guy. We weren't in time to save the last victim, though."

That was always rough; to come to a breakthrough in a case only to arrive a few minutes too late. It was the reason he'd thrown caution to the wind and gone out with the team when they'd gotten back. He'd just needed a little down time before he had to have his guard up again. He had to walk on eggshells when he was at home, and he hadn't had the energy to do that when they'd first arrived on the tar mac. Just the mere though of it had been exhausting to him.

But coming home to a soft-spoken, loving boyfriend wasn't at all what he'd expected would happen. If it was, he wouldn't have gone out at all; he would have been more than happy to come straight home if he knew this was the greeting that awaited.

"I'm sorry. It's sounds like it was pretty tough on you," Parker murmured, continuing to kneed over the heels and arches of his feet, "And I'd imagine I wasn't much help, with how things went down before you left, I mean. I know the work you do is important, Spence, and I admire you for it."

Well, that definitely got his attention. He hadn't expected to hear anything like that, and he watched as his boyfriend turned slightly toward him, one hand moving from his feet to his inner thigh. His heart skipped a beat at the look he saw in Parker's face, a look he missed seeing. A look that was full of regret and sorrow, and love.

"The way I acted before you left was unforgivable. I should never have laid a hand on you like that. I wasn't thinking clearly, and I ended up hurting you." He paused and rubbed gently up the inside of Reid's leg, "I just didn't want you to go, Spence, and I let my emotions get the better of me. It's hard to control my temper sometimes, but it's only because I love you so much. I only get angry because I care about you. You know that, right?"

He gave Parker a small nod. The man just wanted to spend as much time with him as he could, and that made him feel special and wanted. It was understandable to get a little upset if you couldn't be with the person you loved. Wasn't it?

A part of him wasn't so sure.

"Anyway, I'm sorry." The man gave him a grin and moved his hand up a little more, "Forgive me."

Spencer swallowed and thought about what he'd just heard. He'd been apologized to before, several times, and sometimes he believed the man was truly sorry, but other times he wasn't completely convinced. This felt different to him though, more genuine. The way Parker was looking at him made him feel warm and loved and cherished. It made him remember why he'd fallen in love with him in the first place...

.

" _Parker, what's going on?" He was being directed somewhere, he had no idea where since he couldn't see anything at all. All he did know was that they were at Park's house and the man had some super secret surprise brewing. He felt ridiculous, really...hands out in front of him just in case his boyfriend accidentally ran him into a wall. "You know I'm not coordinated enough to walk around blind, right? I'm gonna break something. It's inevitable."_

" _Just hold your horses, Genius," the other man simpered, continuing to ease him along, "We're almost there."_

 _A moment later the hands on his shoulders left and the blindfold covering his eyes was quickly removed. He blinked a few times and looked around, a smile curving his lips as he took in the scene before them. There was a blanket spread out on the floor of the living room; plates, silverware and a few take out boxes sitting in the center of it. A bottle of wine was chilling on ice with two glasses nearby. The TV was on, and it had a DVD paused at the intro—Spencer immediately knew what it was. Park had never seen The Lord of the Rings, a fact that he'd given his boyfriend hell over, and apparently The Fellowship of the Ring was waiting for them._

 _It was all amazing. No one had ever done anything like this for him before and he felt his heart swell with an immense feeling of warmth and something else...love, maybe? He looked back to his companion, "You—You did all this? For me?"_

 _The bright smile he got in return set butterflies loose in his stomach. "Spence, who else would I do this for? Look, I got you favorite, from that Thai place you like so much. Come on," he placed a hand on the small of Reid's back and coaxed him forward to sit down on the floor, "I don't want the food getting cold, and from what you've said this movie's quite long. We should get started if you don't want to end up spending the night here."_

" _This is the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me..." he mumbled, sitting down on the blanket._

" _Well, I wanna do stuff like this for you all the time. Every day, because it's what you deserve." Parker paused and reached down between two take out containers, picking up a small white box and handing it over to Reid as he continued, and Spencer could tell he was nervous, "You've said a few times that you're lease is up in a couple months, and I just wanted you to know that you're welcome here if you want..."_

 _Spencer looked down at the box and removed the lid to reveal a silver key. "Is this—"_

" _Yeah," Park laughed, "It's a key to my house."_

 _He felt a slight tremor in his hands as he took the key out of the box, examining it like it was a foreign, alien object. Was Parker asking him to move in with him? They'd only been dating for about six months. Well, six months, twenty-two days, fourteen hours and thirty-seven minutes...precisely, but he did feel like they were growing closer together. He spent most of his free time over here already; they didn't spend much time at his apartment. There wasn't a lot of room and it was cluttered with books and papers. He could see himself living here, though, with Parker. He could see himself with Parker for a very long time._

" _You don't have to give me an answer now, Spence, just promise me you'll think about it. That's all I ask."_

" _Park, this is, um, unexpected to say the least. We haven't even had sex yet...well, I mean,_ technically. _..."_

 _When it came to sexual encounters he was extremely limited. Graduating high school at twelve and attending college before he'd even hit puberty didn't leave him with many options in the romance department. And then he'd started at the BAU as the youngest agent they'd ever had and met Aaron Hotchner. He'd had a thing for Hotch for so long that no one else ever really sparked his interest. Until he'd met Parker._

 _They'd done a few things. They'd been together for six months, so of course they'd done_ some _things; but he was still very much a virgin, and because of that they were taking things slow, physically. Parker had been incredibly understanding about the whole thing; made him feel comfortable with whatever they did or didn't do. And it wasn't like he didn't want to have sex, it was more a case of being absolutely terrified of messing things up. He had no idea what he was doing. This was his first real relationship, and he didn't want to lose it._

" _Hey," Parker moved in closer, softly caressing his cheek, "I'm not with you for that, Spence. That'll happen when the time's right, so trust me when I say there's no rush. I'm more than happy to go at your pace."_

 _Reid gave him a shy smile. He always said that. He was always so understanding and always made him feel comfortable in his own skin. Perhaps that was all he really needed to know. Maybe they'd waited long enough. He trusted Parker, and he wanted to show him how much he cared about him, so he slowly leaned in and brushed their lips together, smelling cinnamon as the other man opened up to him. Park always smelled of cinnamon, from the mints and the gum he chewed, and Spencer couldn't smell it anymore without instantly thinking about him. "Maybe..." he murmured, "Maybe this is the right time?"_

 _Parker's mouth met his once more, and they shared a soft and tender kiss as knuckles gently ran down his cheek, then the other man pulled back minutely and breathed, "That's not why I asked you—"_

" _I know," Reid stopped him, nodding his head, their faces remaining a mere inch apart. He was nervous, but excited at the same time. He wanted to show Parker how much he appreciated everything he'd done for him. "That's why it feels so right," he continued, his voice trembling, "I—I want this. Please, Park...I trust you, a-and I want you to be my first."_

 _He felt a smile against his lips, then heard a gentle laugh as arms wrapped around him. Parker pushed forward, and he let himself be lowered to the blanket as the other man spread his legs and settled between them. Hips rocked down, and he felt the rigid line of Parker's filling arousal. He gasped into the mouth above him and arched up, a hand stroked through his hair._

" _You wanna be mine, Spence?"_

 _Hard flesh thrust against him again and he moaned, wanting to feel more of it all. "Y-Yes," he sighed, writhing as he dug his nails into Parker's back, "Please...will you show me what to do?"_

" _Oh yes. You just leave everything to me, baby," a cool, smooth voice whispered hotly in his ear, "I'm gonna show you exactly what I want you to do...and I'm gonna take such good care of you..."_

.

He came out of the memory with a smile on his face. Parker could be so sweet when he wanted to be, and he definitely made him happy. The good times far outnumbered the bad, and when things did get rough Park was always very quick to set things right. Like tonight for example. Tonight he was acting like his old self again. He was the same man who'd shyly slipped his number into a book Spencer had bought from his store one day. He was the man who'd greeted him with a bright and radiant smile every time he came back to the bookstore, not in search of more books but in search of more stimulating conversation with the handsome owner.

Spencer wanted _this_ Parker all the time, the Parker that made him feel like the most beautiful and important man in the world. The Parker that made him laugh until he cried, that made him let loose and do things he never thought he'd have the courage to do, the Parker that could make his toes curl and his body feel pleasures beyond what he'd thought possible.

In that moment he wanted to show the man on the other side of the couch just how much he loved him, so he pulled his feet out of Parker's hold and moved to straddle his lap. His hands gripped onto a broad chest as he looked down into gorgeous blue eyes, and strong arms snaked around his hips, pulling him in closer. His head bowed and their lips met as he rocked down, feeling Parker's hardening cock through the fabric of their pants. The kiss deepened when he opened his mouth, allowing the tongue that was trying to devour him access, and he could taste cinnamon and beer as they tangled together. There was a moan, and then he whispered into the open mouth below, "I missed you."

"Fuck, Spence, I missed you too." Fingers ran through his hair, softly tugging at the roots, "You have no idea how much I missed you, baby..."

A hot mouth sloppily kissed along his neck, leaving his skin tingling and sending a shiver down his spine. He was achingly hard, and he thrust down again, desperate to feel more of the man beneath him. "Please, Park..." he half begged, half purred, "I want you to take me to bed..."

There was a growl, and the next thing he knew hands were cupping his ass and he was being lifted up off the couch. He wrapped his legs tightly around Parker's waist and his arms around the man's neck as he was carried into their bedroom.

.


	3. You've Reached Dr Spencer Reid

_This is the last 'nice' chapter for a little while.  
_

 _Also, updates should come a bit more frequently now. :)_

* * *

Chapter Three

You've Reached Dr. Spencer Reid

.

Hotch headed home not long after Reid, and he'd made sure the rest of the team either had a designated driver or enough money for cab fare before he'd left. The last thing he wanted to do was get a phone call in the middle of the night telling him one of his subordinates was in the drunk tank or worse, had been in an accident. Not that he thought the team would really do something like that; however, he couldn't help but feel like the dad of the group sometimes. Sure, Rossi was older than him, but that didn't mean the man acted his age all the time. In fact, there'd been several instances where Dave had actually acted worse than Morgan, Reid and Garcia combined.

He chuckled at the thought, dragging himself through the door to his house and placing his keys on the glass console table in the entryway. When he moved into the living room, Jessica was packing up her things to leave.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice hushed in the stillness of the space, "How was he for you?"

"Perfect as usual," the blonde answered, turning around and giving him a tired smile, "He's looking forward to seeing you in the morning and spending the weekend with you. He has a lot of things planned..." she snickered, "You're gonna be so exhausted."

"I better get some sleep then," he sighed, sitting down on the couch and letting his go-bag fall to the floor by his feet, "Thanks again for watching him a little longer so I could grab a drink with the team."

"It's no problem, Aaron," she reassured, folding up a cross stitch and placing it in her bag. She'd always done them, said it was good stress relief. There were several of her finished works framed throughout the house. She liked giving them as gifts. She stared at him for a moment, then sat on the couch by his side, "Tough case?"

He snorted and gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Jess always knew when something was bothering him. He'd thought it was funny that even when Haley and he were still happily married Jessica was the one who'd seemed to be more in tune with how he was feeling most of the time. He didn't know what he'd do if he didn't have her in his and Jack's lives. She was a tremendous blessing to the both of them.

"Yeah, I guess so," he answered, a little noncommittal. The case _was_ bothering him, but that wasn't what was in the forefront of his mind. "It didn't end as well as it could have. It's always hard when we lose the victim."

"I can't even imagine how you guys do what you do," she mumbled, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest, "I'd be an emotional wreck all the time."

"Unfortunately you get somewhat used to it."

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Jess rummaged through her bag for her keys. Abruptly, though, she turned to face him head on, "Is there anything else going on? Because it feels like there's something else bothering you."

His brows creeped up his forehead at the straightforwardness of her approach, and then he let out a small, sad laugh, "Hell, maybe there is..." When she didn't stop staring at him he elaborated, "I'm worried about someone. I can't really put my finger on why, but I just have this bad feeling that something's going on with him."

"Is it Spencer?"

How the hell? His brows quickly furrowed then and he sat there shocked and dumbfounded. How in the world did this woman always know what was going on? It was uncanny. "How—How did you know—"

"I've seen how you look at him, Aaron," she cut him off, "and how he looks at you..."

"Jess, I hope you don't think—I hope you know that nothing ever happened. I didn't—" he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "I never cheated on Haley."

"Oh, of course not!" she exclaimed, then hushed her voice, "I know you, Aaron Hotchner. You're a good man and you were a wonderful husband."

"Yeah, I was a husband who was never here because I was always out there," he motioned outside, "I always put this job first. Even after Jack—"

"Stop that right now," she gently chided, "Jack loves you and he knows you love him, too. He also knows that you help people and he's very proud of you."

He gave her another smile and then froze when his brain finally caught up to what she'd said earlier. "Wait," he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, giving her an intimidating glare, "How he looks at me?"

"Uh huh," she smirked, unintimidated, "You finally caught that, huh? I mean, come on...your whole team is a bunch of profilers. They've gotta know that you two at least have feelings for each other. You and him are probably the only clueless ones of the bunch."

No. He shook his head at her in disbelief. He would have noticed if Reid had been _looking_ at him; he wasn't completely clueless. He did see Reid; he saw a lot of Reid, and he saw Reid with someone else. "He lives with someone, Jess. Another man. They're... _involved._ "

That last word stuck in his throat like sandpaper, gritty and rough.

"You know from first hand experience that that doesn't mean he doesn't care for you."

He gave her a quizzical look.

"You lived with Haley for years, Aaron. Yet you also had feelings for him, right? So who's to say he's not in the same situation now?"

Well, okay. She kind of had a point there, but he still couldn't bring himself to believe Spencer Reid had a thing for him. The younger man practically jumped every time he got near him. That kind of behavior usually didn't scream _Hey, I'm into you_. Of course, Spencer wasn't usual in the least. He felt his lips curving up into a grin.

"Do you think he's in real trouble, Aaron?"

The grin faded and he brought his gaze back to her as he shook his head. He didn't want to think the worst, but there were certain signs Spencer was displaying that pointed toward domestic issues of some kind. He was withdrawn from the team. He'd never been much of a social butterfly, of course, but lately he'd be in a rush to get home right after work. And when he did go out with them, he seemed nervous and would constantly check his phone. The longer a case lasted, the more jumpy and irritable he became. He'd lost weight, and he looked tired all the time. Those were all red flags of abuse. To what extent, though, Aaron had no idea; and it really wasn't any of his business.

"I don't know," he finally answered, "All I do know is that I have a bad feeling."

"Well, you should trust that feeling. Trust your gut." Jessica gathered her bag and keys into her hand, then scooted to the edge of the couch before lovingly patting his stomach, "Trust it, Aaron. It's a good gut."

He placed his hand over hers and gave it a little squeeze, then watched as she stood and made her way to the front door. As she opened it she turned back to him, "Try to get some rest. You're gonna need it for that little boy up there," she motioned in the direction of Jack's room and smiled, "Like I said, he's got lots of things planned."

He heaved his tired body up and walked toward the door, preparing to lock it after she left. "You too, Jess, and thanks again."

"Like I said, it's no problem at all. Call if you need anything."

"We're on stand down for the weekend, so I should be good."

She nodded, then leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek, "Goodnight."

"Night."

He watched as she got into her car and pulled out of the driveway, making sure it all happened without incident before shutting and locking the door. Then he turned and set the alarm, went back to the couch and draped his bag over his shoulder. As he climbed the stairs he pulled his tie all the way off his neck and undid the top buttons of his shirt. He stopped on the landing to stretch his limbs before moving down the hall toward the master bedroom.

Jack's room was on the way, and when he reached it he quietly cracked the door open to peek in on him. The boy was cuddled up in his bed with his favorite stuffed animal, a blue and orange stegosaurus named Spike that Haley had insisted Aaron win him at the fair one year. That dinosaur had seen Jack through a tonsillectomy, a broken arm, and a wide array of illnesses. It had also been a massive comfort for him in the wake of Haley's death.

It was still hard to believe how long she'd been gone. It'd been five years. Jack was nine now, and Aaron had no doubt that Haley would be very proud of how grown up her son was—of what a wonderful young man he was becoming. Aaron hoped he was doing an okay job of raising him, but he had a feeling a lot of Jack's well adjustment had to do with how wonderful his Aunt Jessica was with him.

He thought about sneaking in and giving the boy a kiss, but he didn't want to risk waking him. So instead, he eased the door shut and continued further down the hallway to his own room. When he entered he set his bag and his phone down on the nightstand, pulled out his Glock and moved to the closet where he kept his gun safe. Punching in the code, he placed the weapon securely inside and then proceeded to finish unbuttoning his shirt. As it slid off his shoulders he shimmied out of his pants, replacing them with a pair of comfortable sleep pants before entering the en suite bathroom and brushing his teeth. When he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he couldn't help but feel like he was staring at a failure. He'd failed to save Haley, and because of it Jack had to grow up without his mother. He wondered what price he would have to paid now, if his inaction was again failing someone he cared about.

He sighed, trying to get that thought out of his mind, then quickly rinsed his mouth and exited the bathroom, practically falling into bed the moment he was close enough. He savored the feel of the cool sheets against his skin as his aching body sunk into the plush bedding.

He really was exhausted.

Closing his eyes, he tried to still his mind and relax his body, but after a few minutes it was becoming evident that sleep wasn't going to come to him easily.

He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, cringing as he examined the thick line of dust that had accumulated on the fan blades. He watched as shadows danced along the walls. He listened to the steady tick of the clock and the hoot of an owl somewhere near by. A dog barked. He looked back to the filthy fan and really thought he should clean it. If he ever wanted to use it, he didn't want to send mountains of dust flying through the air. Maybe he should clean all the fans...

After thirty minutes of thinking about all the things he should do around the house, he realized he wasn't going to go to sleep. Not soon, anyhow. He just had way too much on his mind and it refused to shut down.

The bulk of his problem was Spencer Reid; he just couldn't seem to get the genius out of his head. Jessica had told him to trust his gut, and right now his gut was yelling at him to call the young doctor. To check on him. Perhaps if he knew Spencer was okay he'd be able to at least get a little sleep. He wondered how the other man would feel about receiving a call from his boss at one in the morning, but before he could think better of it he had his phone in his hand and he was dialing the number. As he listened to it ring on the other end he silently plead for Reid to pick up, and when he heard a click he sighed in relief. A moment later, though, his heart sank as the sound of Spencer's voice on a prerecorded message flowed through the phone.

" _You've reached Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. Please leave your name, number and a detailed message after the beep and I'll do my best to return your call in a timely manner. However, if this is a true emergency, please hang up and dial 911. Thank you."_

Aaron listened to the message and the long beep that followed. He didn't actually think ahead to what he would say if he ended up getting sent to voicemail. He was regretting that now. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath and let his words flow out unbidden, "Hey, Reid, it's Hotch. Or, Aaron." Yeah, that hadn't really needed to be clarified. It wasn't like Reid would be confused as to who was calling him. Although, he might be a little baffled by how extremely awkward the message was. He'd already started, though, and it was out there so he might as well own it. "I was just calling to make sure you got home alright," he continued, "You seemed a little upset when you left the bar and I was worried. If you get this you can call—you know, whenever. Anyway, have a good weekend. I'll see you on Monday, Reid."

With that, he hung up and mentally chastised himself for how insane and/or desperate he'd probably sounded on the recording. He wasn't usually like this—unsure, nervous, anxious—he was the one who always kept a cool and level head during a crisis. He was the one who maintained order through all the chaos. Right now, though, _he_ was the thing that was in chaos and he had no idea how to deal with it. He didn't like not knowing what to do. He didn't like feeling lost and powerless. And most of all, he didn't like that Spencer hadn't answered the phone.

There was one thing he did know, though, and that was that he needed to try and get some real sleep if he was going to be able to keep up with Jack the next day. And to do that, he had to stop thinking about Spencer Reid—at least for the night.

Sighing, he sat his phone back down on the table by the bed and rolled over, covering his head with the blanket and falling into a light and fitful slumber.

.


	4. Mine

_Okay. This chapter is one of the main reasons for the rating and warnings...and I'm a bit nervous about it. Don't hate me..._

 _Please read each chapter with caution from here on out._

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Chapter Four

Mine

.

Spencer stretched and rolled onto his back as he cracked his eyes open; but then quickly shut them, hissing as the bright morning light hit his retinas. He groaned, turned over and slid to the other side of the bed, reaching out to feel for his lover. When his hand fell onto an empty space instead of a body his brows furrowed, and he opened his eyes again, realizing he was alone.

Park was apparently already up.

He stayed there for a few more minutes, savoring the comfort of the bed as he watched the sun's rays shining in through the window. The atmosphere was calm and serene and peaceful, and he let his mind wander back to the night before. He'd been so worried and tense when he'd gotten home, but his boyfriend had made him feel loved and cherished. He'd managed to ease all his fears away. Parker always knew exactly what to do to make him relax, to make the stress vanish and replace it with absolute pleasure.

Last night had definitely been no exception. The things Park could do with his mouth...his hands...his body.

He shivered at the thought.

The man had been soft and sweet, yet intense and carnal at the same time, and he'd left Spencer completely speechless, breathless, and trembling in the best way possible...

.

 _He looked up into crystal blue eyes, panting as heat swarmed low in his belly. The slow and steady slide of cock in and out consumed him, and he tried to push down into every thrust, desperate to feel more of the man inside him. He was aching for release, his pleasure mounting so much that he whined at the thought of taking himself in hand. He couldn't, though. His hands were bound to the headboard._

 _Parker liked to be in control._

" _Please, Park," he whimpered, pulling at the restraints, playing the part._

" _What do you want?" Parker purred, snapping his hips forward, "Tell me what you_ need. _"_

" _I need you to—" his breath hitched and he cried out, colors bursting across his vision as the cock inside him drove home, hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves, "To—To let me come. P-Please, can I come?"_

" _Well," Parker's lips curved up into a grin, "Since you asked so nicely..."_

 _He felt warmth encircle the base of his throbbing length and start to slip up toward the head, slow and steady. Slick, tight pressure massaged him, up and down, twisting over the tip with every pass. His eyes fluttered as he fought to keep them open. He gasped, hands clutching onto the velvet ties around his wrists while he bucked into the fist jerking him off. He was on the verge of sweet relief, sweat beading his brow and a voice crooning in his ear, soft and husky._

" _That's it, baby..." hips curled into him and he moaned. "Open up to me..." the hand around his cock tightened while another twisted harshly into his curls. "Feel me..." lips and tongue and teeth mouthed along his neck. His hair and head were yanked back; a growl filled the air, "Show me you're mine, Spence."_

" _Park—" words caught in his throat, and he cried out as he came hot and thick over Parker's fist._

 _He arched into the man above him, his body shuddering and pulsing through blissful waves of heat._

" _Good boy..."_

.

He came out of the memory with a groan, half hard and longing for a repeat performance. He didn't know why he'd waited so long to have sex, but he was enjoying making up for it now. He chuckled at the thought and made his body move, climbing out of bed and searching the floor for his boxers—they'd been heatedly thrown there during the night. Once he slipped them on he grabbed a white undershirt out of the dresser and pulled it over his head, then made his way down the hall toward the kitchen.

He needed coffee.

It was quiet as he moved through the house, but he didn't think Park would have already left to open the store. It was only 8:30 in the morning, and Mystic didn't open until 11:00 on Saturdays. "Park?"

There was no answer, and when he made it to the living room it was empty. Maybe he'd call him, after the coffee. He could smell a fresh pot already brewing, just waiting for him, and he hummed with contentment as he entered the kitchen.

But he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard his lover's voice, cold and sharp, slice through the air. That voice was completely opposite to the soft, sweet tone he'd heard last night; and he knew what it meant all too well. His body tensed, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as a shiver ran down his spine.

"I thought you said you came straight home from the jet."

He turned toward the sound and saw Parker sitting at the dining room table glaring at him. "What?" he asked, his voice lilting just a little too much for comfort.

Why would he ask that? How would he even know? Spencer picked up the pot and started to pour a cup of coffee while he anxiously waited for the other man to answer. He hoped the tremor in his hands went unnoticed. But when he looked back to the table the tremor intensified, his veins filled with ice and his heart sank. There was a receipt sitting on the surface.

Oh fuck.

That was the receipt from the bar last night. He'd stupidly put it in his messenger bag, along with his phone, which was now sitting next to it on the table.

Parker'd gone through his bag.

 _Why_ had Parker gone through his bag?

He tried to swallow down the rising lump of dread coiling up in his throat and took a nervous step closer. He had to explain, and he needed to stay calm; he needed to keep the situation under control. "Park, it was just a drink with the team. A-And I didn't even drink," he gave him a timid smile and shook his head, "I know you don't like me drinking when you're not around, so all I had was ginger ale."

"Yeah, you're right Spence, I don't like it. Any of those alpha males you work with could get you drunk and try to take advantage." Parker narrowed his eyes at him, staring in silence for a moment before his gaze softened slightly, "I'm only protecting you from that."

That was absurd. The thought of any of his team members being attracted to him enough to try and take advantage of him was downright laughable. Nobody would want him that much. He shook his head again, "They would never—"

He startled when Parker leapt out of his seat and got a little too close to him too fast.

"They would never!?" the man seethed, hot breath in Spencer's face, "For a genius you're fucking naive, Spence!"

"Parker, j-just calm down," he tried, putting his hands up between them in a placating manner, "Please—"

"Don't tell me to calm down," he hissed, taking another step forward and forcing Reid to move back, right into the kitchen counter. "I've seen how that over-muscled jock looks at you," he continued, lower, "Morgan, isn't it?"

"N-No, Morgan doesn't look at me like that." His hands came forward to push against Parker's chest in protest, trying to keep him at a distance. He needed some space; he was losing control of the situation and could feel himself starting to panic. But his wrists were swiftly taken into a steel grip, and then his hands were ripped away from Parker's chest right before his lower back was forced into the edge of the counter top. He yelped at the impact, pain shooting up his spine as the hands moved to circle his upper arms, preventing him from moving. He looked into those beautiful blue eyes that had been so warm and loving the night before—when he'd thought everything was so wonderful—but now they were cold and slightly terrifying. "Please, Park, stop. You're hurting me..."

Parker didn't acknowledge him at all; it was like the man hadn't even heard him speak. That wasn't good. How could he get through to someone who was too wound up to hear him?

"Yeah, I bet Morgan would just love to get his hands on you... _Pretty Boy_." He leaned in closer and tilted his head, smirking, "Maybe you'd let him, too. Hm? Is that it, Spencer? Am I not doing it for you!?"

He cried out as he was pressed further into the counter, another jolt of pain radiating through his back. His eyes clenched shut and he tried to breathe through it all—tried to figure out what he should do, or what he _could_ do. He'd never seen Parker this upset with him before. He had to get the situation under control or things were just gonna get worse, and he didn't even want to think about what that could entail. Instead, he tried to move his arms, but the hands holding them squeezed and then pulled him away from the counter only to throw him right back into it. Plates and glasses fell off the shelves at the impact, shattering as they hit the floor.

"Do you not want me anymore!?" Parker screamed, spittle spewing into Reid's face, "Is that it? You wanna take a ride on a black dick!?"

"NO!" he yelled, and for a moment Parker's hold on him eased up as the man gave him a confused look. He hardly ever talked back anymore, and he was frozen in stunned shock by his own outburst. He didn't like being accused of being unfaithful, though; he'd never done anything to make Parker think that he would cheat. He didn't understand why he was so jealous. It wasn't like there were people lining up to woo him. One thing he did realize was that he needed to lower his voice before he said another word; yelling more would only escalate matters. He took a deep breath and softened his tone, "Morgan's my friend. That's it, Park. I promise you—"

The next thing he knew, his body was crashing to the tile floor at Parker's feet as pain coursed through his jaw. His arms stung where shards of broken glass cut into his skin and his vision blurred; he blinked furiously in an effort to clear it.

He was slightly disoriented.

His mind raced through every possible scenario that could play out here, and none of them were particularly good. That was, unless he could somehow diffuse the rapidly spiraling situation—a task that he was so far utterly failing to do. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, but flinched back against the lower cabinets when Parker crouched down next to him. "Baby, _please_ ," he looked up at the other man, his eyes beseeching, "Please don't do this..."

The only response to his request was a narrowed and heated gaze.

"Or maybe you're more interested in the old guy," Parker muttered, "Rossi, right? You practically idolize the fucker. Is that who you want, Spence? You want a sugar daddy? You wanna try him on for size? See how he fits inside you?"

"Parker, no!" he frantically shook his head, tears starting to fall down his face. He didn't know what to do here; he was lost, grasping at anything he could to try and keep from drowning in sheer hopelessness. Slowly, he reached out to his lover—his partner, his boyfriend—trying again to get through to him, "I love you, not them. I promise you. Please—"

He screamed when Parker grabbed his wrist in a bruising hold; nails digging into his flesh and bones scraping together. Then hot breath was right at his ear and fingers were tangling into his hair, gripping tightly at the roots to hold him still—forcing him to maintain eye contact.

"Or _maybe_..." the man seductively purred, "Just maybe you've got the hots for your boss. Hm?"

His eyes grew wide and he immediately froze, ice seeping into every fiber of his being and stealing his breath. His heart clamored furiously against his ribs and his stomach plummeted to the floor. His mouth was dry and his throat felt too constricted. In that instant he knew that everything had just gotten much more volatile, and he desperately tried to show no emotion at all. He couldn't do that, not when it came to Hotch. If he let his feelings show it would surely give him away, and then there would be no getting out of this. This, whatever it was, was so much worse than anything that had ever happened in the past. For the first time since he'd moved in he was actually afraid Parker might kill him.

"Agent Hotchner...Hotch. Is he the one, Spencer? Are you hot for Hotch now?" he paused and grinned, "Or...is he _Aaron?_ I bet you'd drop to your knees for Aaron, wouldn't you baby? Maybe you already have."

He tried to shake his head but the hand in his hair was severe, prohibiting any movement.

"Have you sucked him off, Spence? Did you take everything he gave you? Did you swallow it all down and beg for more like a good little whore?" Parker leaned in until their lips were almost touching, "Just like you do for me?"

"No," he sobbed, tears streaming down his face as he listened to the hateful, degrading words. He didn't know what to do or what to say to prove he was telling the truth, so he just cried out, "Parker please...I swear I haven't done anything!"

"No?"

The hold on his wrist vanished and fingers were squeezing his throat as Parker lifted him back up to his feet by his hair. He heard _and_ felt the loud rip as locks were pulled from his scalp, then he was hurled head first into the dining room wall. A sharp, piercing pain invaded his mind, cracking plaster surrounded him and a faint ringing filled his ears. He couldn't tell if it was real or not.

Things were all a little hazy.

Spots danced across his vision; it didn't feel like he was completely inside his body as he slid bonelessly down the wall, his feet unable to hold him up.

He wasn't exactly sure of what was happening to him.

Warm liquid, wet and sticky, dripped into his eye and he quickly clenched them both shut. He was confused and dizzy and _oh so tired_. Something crashed above him and he flinched, covering his head as glass rained down around him.

Someone was yelling—he didn't know why. Had he been having an argument?

Suddenly he felt fingers curling around the nape of his neck and he gasped, his body automatically tensing as he tried to lean further into the wall—tried to get away from the touch. He opened his eyes, blinking until the spots faded and he could focus on the person bent down in front of him. Blue eyes, shaggy hair, sharp features.

Beautiful?

Then everything came crashing back to him, crushing him. He remembered what was going on. He remembered how he'd ended up on the floor with his head pounding and his wrist aching.

"Why'd you go out last night, Spencer? With _them?_ " Parker asked, his voice hushed and his face much too close, "Huh? Why did you keep it all from me?"

"I—I d-don't know. I'm sorry," he slurred, "Park—Parker...p-please..."

He could feel his mind slipping, unable to keep focused on what was happening around him. He knew that was a very bad thing; he was at least with it enough to understand that much. He needed to stay alert. His head was throbbing and he could barely move his wrist; whenever he attempted to pain would travel up his arm and to his elbow. He needed to figure out what was wrong with him, so he tried to more thoroughly assess his injuries. Unfortunately he was finding it very hard to concentrate.

More blood trickled down his face.

He was hurt, that much was obvious, and he was pretty sure he needed some form of medical attention. But in order to get that he had to calm Parker down and attempt to regain control of the situation—he almost laughed at the thought. God, was that even possible? Had he ever even _had_ control to begin with?

"Tell me what the fuck happened last night, Spencer, or so help me, I'll beat it out of you."

"The—The whole team went out. P-Please," he tried, his heart frantic, "N-Nothing happened. I was the first one to leave, and I came straight home. I promise. I—I came home, t-to you."

The hand on his neck squeezed, and he brought his own up to clutch at Parker's arm in a vain attempt to lessen the pain.

"Well, _sweetie_ , if nothing happened then why did Hotch—oh no, wait! I mean _Aaron_ ," he grinned, but it looked more like a vicious snarl, "Why did _Aaron_ call you last night?"

"Wh-What?" He frowned and shook his head, trying to reconcile what he'd just heard. It didn't make sense. Hotch wouldn't have called him; he'd have no reason to. "He—He didn't."

"Oh yeah, he did." Parker gave him a nod and a condescending little look, "He called to check on you. Said you were upset when you left the _bar_ , and he was _worried_. Now, isn't that just the sweetest fuckin' thing you ever did hear?" Nails dug deep into the back of Reid's neck and the man's other hand fisted into his shirt; then Parker stood and yanked him to his feet. The sudden change in altitude had his vision blurring once more while the dizziness returned. He wasn't sure if he could hold his own weight, so he latched onto Parker to keep from falling. The movement sent a spark of pain through his arm. Before he was able to truly process it, though, his back was slammed against the wall and his knees buckled. He again tried to say something to diffuse the situation; nothing but a broken whimper escaped. Then Parker was in his face, seething, "You wanna tell me why the fuck you needed checking on, Spence?!"

Had Hotch really called him last night? He didn't remember hearing the phone ring, but it hadn't been on the nightstand where he usually kept it, either. He'd left it in his bag when they'd gone to bed. "I-I'm sorry. I don't know why he called."

"Oh, I do," Parker hissed, "I know exactly why he called you. He called you because he thinks your his. But you're not, are ya Spence?" His voice grew soft, almost tender, and the hand that had been clawing into his neck moved to gently stroke down his cheek. "You're not his because you're mine," he murmured, bringing their lips close, "You're my pretty boy. Isn't that right, baby?"

"Don't," he whispered, his stomach lurching at the use of the nick name, "Don't say that."

"Oh, is _Morgan_ the only one who gets to call you that?" Parker glared at him, waiting for a response. When Spencer remained silent he yelled, "ANSWER ME!"

"No! I'm—I'm sorry! I—" he closed his eyes and fought back a sob as he shook his head. It wasn't worth it. The name wasn't worth fighting over, not right now. "I'm sorry," he looked back to Parker, trying to keep his voice and body from trembling, "I shouldn't have said that. It's...it's f-fine."

"Good boy," Parker smirked, "Now, where were we? Oh, yeah..." he laughed, then stared him down, heatedly repeating his question, "You're not Aaron's because you're mine. _Isn't that right, Spence?_ "

He gave him a tiny nod, and he hated himself for it. He felt pathetic, but he needed to do whatever he had to in order to get through this without being hurt more than he already was. He'd analyze the fact that Hotch had evidently called him later, when things had calmed down.

If they ever did calm down.

If there was a later.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and gave the man another nod, "Y-Yes."

"That's not very convincing."

"Park, don't—"

Fear gripped his insides as fingers thread into his hair and pushed his head up against the wall.

"I guess I'm just gonna have to show you exactly what you are, sweetie," Parker growled, "I'll show you who you fucking belong to..."

Hips rocked roughly against him and he could feel the hard line of Parker's very prominent arousal pushing into his groin. Then lips crashed into his and he startled, gasping from the shock. He couldn't breathe; everything was too close, too hard, too much. Parker's scent was all over him, cinnamon and coffee and sweat. A tongue thrust into his mouth, reaching as far inside as possible; he was choking on it. Teeth collided violently with his; he could taste copper as he swallowed a moan from the other man. A hand roamed down over his chest and abdomen, nails scraping against the fabric of his shirt along the way; then fingers dipped under his boxers and firmly circled around him, beginning to stroke.

No no no no...this was so beyond what he could handle that it just couldn't be happening. Not this. He couldn't let this happen! His hands came up to Parker's chest and pushed him off, ignoring the pain in his wrist as he turned his head to break away from the kiss. "No!" he gasped, his voice scratchy as he tried to scream, "Parker, stop! Please stop! Y-Y-You don't have to do this—"

His head was slammed against the wall again, and stars filled his vision as a bright and brilliant pain shot through his skull.

"Shut the fuck up, Spence," Parker snarled, roughly jerking on soft and sensitive flesh, "You brought this on yourself by keeping things from me. You deserve everything I give you, baby. You belong to me, and I'm gonna make damn sure you remember that. And if anyone else ever tries to touch you, I'll kill them."

The next thing he knew, he was being yanked by his hair toward their bedroom, and his heart sank at the realization that he was in no position to stop anything from happening. He couldn't fight against Parker; he was just too injured and his mind was too cloudy.

When they entered the room he was flung toward the bed, landing on his stomach across the mattress. He tried to roll over, but before he had the chance a knee was jabbing into the middle of his back, harshly pinning him in place. Then he felt his boxers being ripped down, exposing his ass and a sob escaped his throat as cool air hit his skin.

He had to do something. He couldn't just lay here and let this happen. He didn't know how, but he had to fight, he had to at least try. He started to thrash on the bed, his hands pushing painfully against the mattress as he struggled to gain any kind of leverage to throw Parker off balance. "Don't—Don't, please!" he screeched, "No no no no! I-I'm sorry! Parker, I'll do better, please! Please don't do this! Don't _do_ this!"

His cries were abruptly muffled when his face was shoved into the pillow below him, a firm hand clamping down around the base of his skull to keep him still. Parker's body blanketed his back, and he could feel the man's hot and heavy erection sliding between his cheeks.

He sobbed as that icy voice crept into his ear.

"Don't fight me, Spence. If you fucking fight me I'll make it hurt more. Now just lay there and be a good boy." There was a dark chuckle, then Parker added, "Or better yet baby, be a _pretty boy_..."

His body quaked at the name.

He was trembling uncontrollably, his head was swimming, and he felt bile rising to the back of his throat as Parker forced his legs apart and settled between them. When fingers began to move down his spine and over the curve of his ass he clenched his hands into the sheets until his knuckles were white.

He wasn't going to be able to stop Parker from doing this. It was really, truly going to happen; and there was nothing he could do about it.

Except ride it out and hope that it was all over soon.

He could do that. He _had_ to do that. He didn't really have a choice in the matter, he had to get through it...and hopefully everything would be over quickly.

With that thought, he grit his teeth, closed his eyes and tried to escape into his mind.

Unfortunately, that strategy only worked for about a minute because he was brutally thrown back into the horror of his reality when a white hot pulse of agony ripped through his backside and shot up his spine, pulling an almost silent scream from the bottom of his burning throat.

.


	5. Help Me

_Heed the warnings._

* * *

Chapter Five

Help Me

.

Spencer opened his eyes and was promptly greeted with a massive amount of pain, hissing as all the sensations assaulted him at once. His entire body ached, his head was pounding, his right wrist throbbed with every beat of his heart and his throat burned. It felt like he'd swallowed glass. And every time he took a breath a biting sting ran across his back.

His mind felt jumbled.

He wasn't sure what was wrong with him exactly, so he tried his best to take stock of his condition and the surroundings.

He was in his bedroom, lying on his bed, on his stomach, and his head was resting on a pillow that was cold, wet and sticky. He was fairly certain it was covered in drool. He tried to roll onto his back to escape the mess, but immediately regretted the action when pain shot directly through his core, causing him to cry out and curl right back in on himself. He couldn't stop shaking, the jerky movements of his body magnifying every ache. It felt like he'd been stabbed by a hot poker that was actively splitting him in two; his backside burned and he was sure something had been torn or ripped from inside him.

There was a warm trickle of _something_ running down his thigh, and he groaned at the implications.

This wasn't good at all.

He closed his eyes when the dizziness struck him—he was lightheaded, probably from hyperventilating. He needed to calm down and try to slow his breathing. Deep breaths...slow and steady. He concentrated on inhaling and exhaling as his mind worked to remember exactly what had happened to leave him in such a state. The fact that he was having a hard time with his recall told him whatever had happened was bad enough for him to try and repress it.

That's when he heard a voice echoing in his head, razor sharp and icy cold. He felt nails clawing into him, ripping him to shreds. There was a body crushing...suffocating...invading him...

.

" _I'll make you remember who you belong to, Spence." Nails scratched harshly across his scalp and his neck, then down his back, ripping the shirt he wore and tearing into his flesh. He screamed as his head was forced to the side, then that voice growled heatedly in his ear, "When I'm done with you, you're gonna feel me all the fucking time."_

" _P-Park..." he gasped, the sound barely a whisper._

 _He didn't know if the man could even hear him. He had no idea how long this had been going on; he'd lost track of time a while ago. There was nothing to concentrate on except the agony coursing through his body and the immense exhaustion that threatened to pull him under._

 _He wished he could pass out._

 _He longed for oblivion._

" _What is it, baby?" Parker asked, soft and sweet. A hand came up to gently comb through his hair, and he whimpered at the tenderness of the touch; it was all such a horrible lie. "Tell me what you want."_

" _P-Please s-stop this," he brokenly sobbed, "I—I promise, I'll do better. I'm sorry—I can't..."_

" _Shhh," Parker soothed, his lips coming down to kiss up Spencer's spine and neck until he reached his ear, "Tell me what you are."_

 _He knew the answer that Parker wanted to hear, and he was ready to say whatever he had to in order to make him stop. All he cared about was making everything stop._

" _Yours. I'm—" he clenched his eyes shut, weeping as he forced the words out, "I'm yours, Park. N-No one else's. I—I don't want anyone else. I only want you..."_

" _That's right, Spence," the man cooed, "You're my filthy little minx. But you hesitated, baby..." his voice grew darker, "I don't think you've learned your lesson yet."_

" _No!" he wailed, hopelessness gripping him tight as his body began to convulse with fearful anticipation, "I can't do this anymore, please! Please don't—"_

" _So," a hand yanked on his hair and Parker growled, "We're gonna keep doing this until I'm convinced that you have."_

 _There was a sharp thrust and then fire shot up his body as his raw and abused entrance was roughly impaled once more. His hands fisted in the sheets and he tried to scream again, but his face was immediately pushed back into the pillow, muffling the sound as his torment continued._

.

He was jolted back into the present by a sharp pain, an echo of what he'd endured earlier in the morning. He remembered everything in horrifically vivid detail, and for the first time in forever he truly wished that he didn't. He wanted to forget it all, but his mind and his body wouldn't allow it.

How could he let that happen to him? He was an FBI agent for crying out loud! He should have been able to stop it; he should have been able to stop _him._ He could have fought harder, or at least tried to talk his way out of it. That's what he was best at—talking. Instead, though, he'd just let it all fucking happen.

Dammit, he was smarter than that!

Things had gotten so wildly out of hand so quickly, though; he hadn't even seen it coming. He'd thought, stupidly, that everything was good—better than good, really. He'd woken up and things had been absolutely wonderful, until they weren't. Parker had been furious with him, and he couldn't control the situation—something he was fucking trained to be able to do. He'd talked crazed unsubs down from the brink, but he couldn't even keep his boyfriend's rage from escalating.

It was all his fault; he was to blame for everything he was experiencing. If he'd just come straight home from the airport instead of going to that bar he wouldn't be in agony now. He wouldn't have had to endure everything Parker'd done to him if he hadn't been trying to keep it a secret.

A wet groan bubbled out of his throat.

Or, maybe if he'd took note of the alarmingly obvious signs that his relationship wasn't healthy he would have broken things off—gotten out before it came to this. He should have left so, so long ago. He never should have moved in with the man to begin with.

So why the hell had he stayed?

Why hadn't he left before this?

His body tensed when he realized something extremely important and exceedingly terrifying; he didn't know where Parker was right now.

What if he was right outside the door? What if he came back into the room? What if he wasn't done with the lesson? He began to tremble, and he could feel himself starting to panic at the thought of another lesson. If Parker came back for more he didn't know if he could survive it. And more importantly, he didn't know if he would even want to try.

But it was so quiet. Too quiet. Maybe Park really wasn't home, maybe he really had left...

.

 _He could hardly move. He just laid there, on his stomach, on the bed, staring at the wall in front of him as tears tracked down his face. He was numb, emotionally_ and _physically—unless, of course, he actually tried to move. His mind, he recognized, was attempting to protect him from a mental breakdown._

 _Or maybe this was the breakdown._

 _Either way, he really didn't care; he welcomed the numbness. He felt all of his emotions humming right underneath the surface, dangerously close, and if they were released he feared he'd completely lose his mind._

 _Maybe he already had._

 _Or maybe he was in shock._

 _His breath hitched and everything in him froze when fingers began to lightly trail up his left calf, then his thigh, his ass, the small of his back. They moved along his spine, and it ached when they tickled over stinging lines of red. He assumed they were red, anyway. He'd literally heard things ripping behind him when nails had clawed down his back. But now those harsh hands were caressing him, gently rubbing circles across his skin, so soft and tender that it made him ache in a completely different way._

 _A very wrong way._

 _Those deceptively loving hands left goosebumps in their wake. He desperately wanted to move out of their reach, but he was just too tired, too sore, too something he couldn't even put into words or thought. So instead of trying to flee from the unwanted touch, he simply clung tighter to the pillow under his head and let out a small, pitiful sob._

" _Hey, now, shhh..." Parker's voice was right at his ear, and he scrunched his eyes shut to keep from flat out bawling at the venomous sound as it slithered into his mind, "It's okay now, Spence."_

 _His entire body shivered at the phrase. It was another lie. Nothing was okay. He didn't think he'd ever be okay again. How could Parker say that_ anything _was okay after what he'd done?_

 _After he'd..._

 _Instead of finishing that thought, Spencer just quickly nodded his head in agreement, terrified that if he remained unresponsive it would anger the other man. Setting him off again was pretty much the last thing that ever needed to happen._

 _He felt the bed shift, and the body behind him disappeared, taking its warmth with it. And a moment later blue eyes were blocking his view of the wall, forcing him to stare into their familiar yet devastating depths. Those eyes looked calm and sweet and caring now, a far cry from the hate and rage that had filled them earlier. They were so beautiful, and he loved looking at them—or, he used to. Now he just wished he could keep staring at the wall._

 _The wall was so much safer._

 _It appeared that Parker was looking him over, wicked eyes examining every detail of him, and he felt like he needed to say something. He had to acknowledge what Park had said. "Everything's—" he stopped, halted by a tremor that quaked through his body. The vibrations from his own voice were like agony to his head. "It's, it's o-okay now," he whispered, meeting those eyes and nodding again, "It's...okay now."_

" _There you go, baby. You just need to listen to me, I know what's best for you." Parker brought a hand up to move some of Spencer's hair out of his face, and he did his very best to stay still—to not shrink away like he wanted to. The touch was feather-light, and he wondered how it could be so annihilating one second and so tender the next. "I had to teach you a lesson, Spence," he continued, his voice soft and quiet, "But now you understand what is and isn't acceptable. You know you can't keep things from me, right?"_

 _Spencer stared blankly at him and slowly nodded, the movement making him dizzy. Suddenly there were two faces looking back at him and he zoned out of the moment. He couldn't handle two of them._

" _You know that you're mine, and that no one else can touch you, right?"_

 _He didn't answer right away; he wasn't even sure what the question was. When Parker snapped his fingers in his face, though, he quickly focused back onto the other man, trying to remember what he'd asked him._

" _Right?" Parker repeated, a hint of annoyance in his tone, "No one else can touch you."_

" _Yes," he instantly replied. In these types of scenarios he knew it was best to do whatever he had to in order to keep the aggressor as calm as possible. He needed to say what Parker wanted to hear; what he thought would keep the situation from escalating into something much more violent. Or, re-escalating in this case. "I'm..." he paused, his throat dry and scratchy, "I'm s-sorry, Park. I'll do better, I promise. I—" he sniffled and took a shuddering breath as a wave of nausea rocked through him, then he forced the words he hated most in all the world out of clenched teeth, "I love you."_

" _I know you're sorry, baby, and I forgive you," Parker whispered, then leaned in and kissed his temple, lingering there, "I love you, too."_

 _When the man's lips touched him a tiny whine escaped before he could rein it in, but thankfully Parker didn't seem to notice._

" _I want you to stay right here and rest now. I have to go open the store, but I'll be back this afternoon." He gently nudged Spencer's chin up until their eyes locked. "Don't even think about going anywhere, Spence," his voice was deceptively soft, an undercurrent of malice laced within, "You've been through a lot, and you need to take it easy so you can heal."_

 _He nodded again, then closed his eyes and sighed as relief washed over him. Parker was actually going to leave him here, alone, and his muscles relaxed at the mere thought. At lease alone he couldn't get hurt any worse than he already was, and when he heard the front door shut and lock, he let himself drift into the soothing darkness of unconsciousness._

.

He felt a tear slip from his eye as he came out of the memory. He still couldn't fully believe what had happened—what the man he'd loved had done to him. Parker had taught him a lesson alright, and then he'd left.

He was gone.

He was at Mystic Books, and he'd stay there until at least mid afternoon. What time was it now, though? He had no idea how long he'd been passed out, and Park could come back at any minute if he'd been asleep for too long. He glanced to the alarm clock and almost cried when he saw the time.

11:15 am.

He still had time to get out. He needed to get up and get out before he missed his chance. The bookstore wasn't open on Sundays, so if he failed to get out now he'd have to spend the rest of the weekend here. That thought alone was enough of a catalyst to get him slowly moving.

He looked toward the foot of the bed and noticed his boxers were still hooked around one of his legs, so he carefully reached down, maneuvering his other leg into the underwear and pulling them up as best he could with one hand. The simple action hurt a great deal more than he'd anticipated, and he panted through a wave of pain that pulsed low in his belly. Once he was able, he gingerly pushed himself up until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, more on his hip than his bottom, hissing at the ache that movement caused as well. Everything hurt—things he didn't even know could hurt, hurt. Like his hair...it felt like his _hair_ hurt.

He stayed there for a minute, perched on the mattress and catching his breath as he let his body adjust to the new position. Then he planted his feet on the floor, took a deep breath and tried to stand. Instantly, searing pain tore through his backside, followed by a large gush of warm liquid that slid down his thighs as his knees gave out; and with a strangled scream he crumpled to the floor. Tremors coursed through his body as he struggled to situate himself, finally managing to lean against the bed frame. Everything seemed to take a tremendous amount of strength that he didn't really have, and he contemplated just lying on the ground and going back to sleep. That sounded like the best option to him until he looked down and saw a small, bright red pool of blood seeping into the carpet beneath him.

Bright red indicated fresh.

His heart instantly sped up at the sight. When he'd first felt the trickle he'd assumed it was a different liquid entirely; his hazy mind hadn't even considered that he could actively be bleeding. But he was, and he needed to get to a hospital. Parker had definitely torn something inside when he'd...when he'd done what he'd done.

He couldn't even think the word.

He didn't know how he was going to get help when he was unable to stand on his own, and as far as he knew his phone was still in the dining room.

He glanced back down at the mess he was sitting in—the evidence of what had happened—and was suddenly and violently overcome with nausea at the sight. Bile rapidly rose up his throat, thick and heavy and burning, and he turned to the side right before he retched, his body expelling absolutely everything that it could onto the floor beside him. But even after there was nothing left for him to purge he still continued to heave, sending excruciating ripples of agony through his quivering frame.

After what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes in all actuality, his diaphragm finally relaxed enough for the contractions to wane, giving him a glorious reprieve. He lifted his head, gasping for air and bringing a shaky hand up to wipe at the remnants of bile and saliva that dripped from his lips. When he looked toward the nightstand his eyes fell on the landline phone, sitting safe and secure in its cradle, and a laugh caught in his throat as tears of joy fell from his eyes. It was like an oasis in the desert, and he'd never been more happy that Parker was a stickler for having a cell phone and a home phone. Frantically, he grabbed it and leaned back against the bed, ignoring the protests his body made.

He should probably call for an ambulance, but that would mean strangers would come, and they'd have to break through the door because he couldn't get up to open it, and then they'd be touching him. The mere thought of someone he didn't know putting their hands on him made him want to retch again. He didn't want strangers seeing him like this; broken, vulnerable and utterly pathetic, but he also knew he needed real help because he was incapable of helping himself at the moment.

If he was being totally honest with himself, there was really only one option he could think of. There was only one individual he wanted to see, only one voice he wanted to hear. There was only one person in the entire world he could even begin to imagine letting see him like this; although he had no idea why, considering how he felt about him.

.

" _Look, Reid, if you ever need anything, please know that I'm only one call away. Day or night. Even if you just need a friend to talk to."_

.

Chewing on his lower lip, he dialed Aaron Hotchner's phone number from memory and waited for it to ring.

* * *

Aaron placed a plate of pancakes on the table in front of Jack and a plate of bacon and eggs in front of himself as he sat down to breakfast with his son. They'd slept in today, so this was really more of a brunch than a breakfast, seeing as it was almost 11:30 already. It had taken him quite a while to fall asleep the night before so he'd welcomed the extra time to stay in bed. It was a rare treat that he hadn't been expecting.

"Wow, Dad!" Jack gleamed, "You made funny shapes!"

He laughed at that. He'd been trying to make nice, normal, round pancakes... _trying_ being the operative word. It seemed that no matter how valiant his efforts, his pancakes always ended up looking just a bit off. They still tasted okay, though, and if funny shapes made Jack happy he was just gonna go with it.

"I'm glad you like my funny shapes."

"Oh yeah! Hey, look! This one looks like an amoeba!" Jack tilted his plate in his dad's direction and gave him a big grin, "And this one's a unicorn!"

"A unicorn, huh? What about this one," he asked, pointing to another pancake, "It kinda reminds me of an elephant with three trunks."

"You're so silly, Dad..." Jack giggled, then stuffed half the syrupy amoeba into his mouth.

"Where do you think I get it from?" he teased.

They continued to eat, Aaron listening for the most part while Jack talked about what he'd learned in school that week. He was getting a rapid-fire lesson on the differences between carnivores, herbivores and omnivores. Apparently a lot of herbivores have multiple stomach chambers; and animals that eat mostly fruit are called frugivores while animals who eat primarily leaves are called folivores.

It was fascinating stuff if Jack's enthusiasm was any indication.

When they were finished eating, Aaron took the plates into the kitchen and sat them in the sink, then turned back to his son, "So, what do you wanna do today, buddy?"

"You really don't have to work today?" he skeptically asked.

"Nope, I'm yours all day." It wasn't often that he had a whole weekend free, and he was planning on enjoying as much time with his son as he could. "I'm off all weekend, actually. So we can do whatever you want."

"Park!" the boy excitedly exclaimed, then grinned, "Oh, and can we get some ice cream too?"

"Definitely," he nodded, "I've been craving some mint chocolate chip. And then maybe we can go to the library. Would you like to get a few new books?"

Jack's eyes lit up at the suggestion, "Yeah! I want one about dinosaurs!"

"Dinosaurs it is," Aaron smiled, ruffling the boy's hair, "Now hurry and go get changed while I finish cleaning up."

Jack quickly jumped out of the chair and bounced up the stairs to his room while Aaron cleared the rest of the dishes off the table. He was about to go get changed himself when he heard his cell phone ringing on the kitchen counter. When he picked it up and didn't recognize the number he feared it could be something concerning work. They were on stand down, but that didn't mean they couldn't still get called back in. If something happened while the other team was out on a case, his team would have to deal with it. Reluctantly, he pressed the answer button and put the phone up to his ear, "Hotchner."

" _H-Hotch?"_

Instantly, his stomach plummeted to the floor and his body tensed. He didn't know the number, but he most definitely knew the voice attached to it, and it didn't sound right at all—tired and wet and...pained.

Something was very, very wrong.

"Reid?" he asked, his throat tight, "What is it? Is everything okay?"

" _Um..."_ There was shuffling on the other end, and heavy breathing followed by a small whimper, _"I—I, um..."_

"Reid," he tried again, his voice on a razor's edge between complete panic and absolute calm, dread trying to seep in, " _Spencer_ , tell me what's wrong. Are you alright?"

He waited anxiously for an answer, his heart beating a mile a minute and his mind racing through countless possibilities.

" _You said to—to call...um, if—if I needed anything?"_

He watched Jack jump down the stairs and scurry over to the couch to put on his shoes, and that's when he realized he probably wasn't going to be spending the day with his son. Sighing, he turned back around to face the kitchen, keeping his voice low, "Yes, anything. Reid, what's going on?"

" _I—"_ there was a cry on the other end, and then a broken sob, _"Hotch, I—I really need your help..."_

Aaron didn't know what to think about the state Reid was in. He sounded so fragile and completely shattered. It took him back to that frigid, fateful night in Georgia. _I knew you'd understand..._

Had Spencer relapsed? Or had he been in an accident? Did something happen to his mother? All those questions and more were floating around in his head as he moved further into the kitchen, listening while Reid continued to stammer on the other end of the line.

" _I, um, I think I need to go to the—the h-hospital. I think..."_

His stomach twisted and his blood ran cold at the weak and uncertain declaration. Reid's voice was filled with pain, devastation and confusion; and it seemed like he didn't know exactly what was going on around him. It was heartbreaking and desperate, and Aaron had no idea what to even make of it. He'd never heard the younger man sound so lost, and his body wanted to seize up in terror at the revelation, but he knew he couldn't afford to let that happen. He needed to keep it together right now because he was fairly certain Spencer was completely unraveling.

"Reid," he tried, keeping his voice steady even though the phone was shaking in his hands, "I need you to tell me what happened. Do you think you can do that?"

" _P-Parker. Um, it—it was Park,"_ Spencer's breath hitched, he hiccuped and sniffled, _"Hotch, I'm sorry—I really messed up. I just—I couldn't, I couldn't do anything! I couldn't s-stop him!"_

"Okay, Reid, it's okay. Shhh..." he soothed, slipping seamlessly into the voice he reserved for victims, "Just try to calm down, Spencer. It's gonna be okay." He glanced at Jack, who'd turned on the TV, then brought his attention back to the conversation. He needed to gather more information to be able to assess the danger of the situation. "Spencer, can you tell me exactly where Parker is right now?"

" _He, um, went to go open the store. He told me to s-stay here, he—he said he'd be back this afternoon."_

When Reid's voice lilted and broke at the end it also broke Aaron's heart, and he had to throw his hand over his mouth to stifle his own cry. "Okay, good," he managed to choke out, "That's, that's good." At least with Simmons out of the house it would be easier to get to Reid. It made things slightly less precarious. "Spencer, I'm gonna help you, I promise, but I have to call Jessica to come stay with Jack. If you're hurt I think you need to call 911."

" _No no no! Please, I just need you!"_ Reid was frantic, bordering on hysterical, _"Please, I-I don't want strangers here. I can't h-handle that...I j-just want you. Can it just be you, Aaron? Please, can you...will you take me?"_

His chest clenched at the sound of Spencer calling him by his given name. He'd long since wondered how it would feel to hear the genius call him Aaron, and now he knew. It felt like his heart was soaring to new heights and shattering into a million pieces at the same time. He was on the verge of tears, but he quickly wiped at his eyes and pulled himself together. He still needed more information.

"Can you tell me how badly you're hurt?"

There was a quiet pause on the other end, a hesitation that felt much too long, and then, _"...I—dunno, really. My, my wrist hurts and I think I—I hit my head, and...um...there's, there's n-nothing, there's nothing else."_

"Okay," he sighed, slightly relieved that Reid's injuries didn't sound as bad as he'd feared, "I'm gonna throw some clothes on and call Jess from Jack's phone. I need you to stay on the line, Reid. Don't hang up."

" _O-Okay,"_ there was another sniffle, _"Thank you, Hotch. Please—just, please hurry..."_

"I will," he vowed, a fire burning deep within him, "It's gonna be alright, Spencer. Just hold on for me."

.


	6. You're Safe

Chapter Six

You're Safe

.

Jessica, thankfully, made it to the house in record time after Aaron had called her and explained what was going on. He'd given her just enough details to emphasize the seriousness of the situation without having to completely betray Spencer's confidence. All she knew was that Reid was hurt and needed Hotch to take him to the hospital, and that had been enough for her to drop what she was doing and rush over. While he'd waited for her to arrive he'd thrown on an old pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt. He'd also told Jack an emergency had come up and he wouldn't be able to spend the day with him.

The kid had been a little upset about missing out on time with his dad, but once Aaron explained that Spencer wasn't feeling well and needed help Jack had been quite understanding. He'd even ran to his room and brought Spike back out, telling Hotch to give the stuffed animal to Spencer and let him keep it until he felt better. The gesture had made him tear up—it was just more proof of what an exceptional and loving young man his son was becoming.

So now he was driving as fast as he could toward Spencer's house, a stegosaurus riding shotgun and his phone gripped tightly in his hand. Reid had gone quiet a few minutes ago, and no matter how much Aaron pleaded with him to say something—anything at all—the only thing he got back was silence.

It was worrisome to say the least.

From what Spencer had told him of his injuries he hadn't thought anything was extremely serious; but now he was doubting that belief. It was entirely possible that Reid may have kept some things to himself, not letting Aaron know how hurt he truly was so he wouldn't call 911. That thought had him growing even more anxious, and a sinking feeling crept into his gut.

"Spencer," he tried again, "Please, if you can hear me just make some kind of noise. Anything. I don't care what it is, just let me know you're okay."

There was nothing, and it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest.

"Come on, Reid. Please don't do this," he begged, face wet with tears he didn't even know he'd shed, "Just fucking say something!"

The answer was just more of the same wretched silence, and he wanted to ram his fist through the windshield out of pure desperation. He felt completely helpless, and he slammed his foot on the gas as he mentally berated himself for being so damn stupid.

He'd known something was wrong for a long time, and he'd done absolutely nothing to stop it. He'd just sat back and watched as Parker Simmons slowly destroyed Spencer Reid, and he hated himself for it. He should have talked to Reid; he should have told him his concerns about Simmons when he'd first started having them. He should have done _something._ But he hadn't, and now for all he knew Spencer was lying dead on the other end of the phone.

And it was all his fault.

When he finally pulled up to the house he jerked the SUV into park, hung up his phone and flew out of the car, sprinting up the driveway and right to the front door. He tried the knob, but of course it was locked; and he was pretty sure that if Spencer wasn't capable of talking on the phone he wasn't going to be able to answer the door either, so he searched through the keys on his key ring until he found his copy to Reid's house. The entire team had duplicate keys to everyone's homes just in case there was ever an emergency that required them to have quick access.

He really felt that this qualified.

He also couldn't help but wonder if Simmons knew about the copies. He was guessing probably not, since the man seemed to be rather possessive and controlling. Parker would definitely not appreciate someone else having access to his things, and it made Aaron sick to think that Spencer fell into that category.

He quickly unlocked the door and let it fall open as he drew his sidearm from the back of his jeans. Reid said that Parker was gone, but that didn't mean the man couldn't have already returned. He was unable to stop the dark thought from entering his mind that maybe that's why Reid had stopped talking to him, but surely he would have heard a struggle over the phone if that had been the case. Either way, though, he wasn't about to take any chances. Slowly, he entered the house and scanned the living room. It was still, and empty, and quiet; and the air felt heavy around him, the atmosphere solemn.

"Reid?" he called, his voice echoing as he moved further into the space, heading toward what looked like the dining room and kitchen.

He glanced down to the table, noting Reid's cell phone and a receipt from the bar they'd gone to the previous night. That's when his training kicked in and he started piecing together the events that may have led to Simmons losing control and lashing out. The man had most likely found the receipt and confronted Spencer about it—Reid probably hadn't told him he was going out and it'd angered him. That scenario certainly fit with the profile.

When he looked back up his eyes landed on a hole in the wall next to the table. Broken pieces of plaster and glass littered the floor around it, and something that looked too much like blood to be anything else was smeared from the cracks down to the floor, drops also staining the tile. The sight sent a shiver through him and he had to fight against an abrupt and almost overwhelming urge to empty his stomach of his breakfast.

This was a crime scene.

He would need to get the team out to collect evidence.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to ignore the nausea churning at his insides and turned to the kitchen. More glass covered the floor there as well, and he assumed that's where the confrontation initially began...escalating until Spencer's head hit the wall behind him. He could almost feel the growl that wanted to escape his chest at the thought of anyone laying a hateful hand on the younger man. He didn't know what it was exactly, but his body ached to find Spencer and protect him—keep him safe.

With his gun still aimed in front of him, he left the kitchen and walked toward the back of the house. He cleared a bathroom and a small bedroom, then moved to the last door down the hall, assuming it was the master. Cautiously, he pushed on the door, listening to the loud creak of the hinges as it swung open. What greeted him on the other side chilled him to the bone.

Spencer was slumped up against the bed frame and the nightstand, and he wasn't moving. Aaron couldn't even tell if he was fucking _breathing._ His head was bowed, matted and tangled hair curtained his face—blocking it from view, and the phone he'd used to call Hotch was sitting on his lap.

A busy signal hummed loudly through the room, breaking up the heavy silence.

He could smell the unmistakable scent of blood in the air, along with sweat and a peculiar mixture of something else...musky and sour and acidic.

He lowered his gun as his eyes drifted up to the bed, examining the sheets that were wrinkled and bunched in the center of the mattress—something red streaked across them. Icy tendrils slithered around his heart and squeezed, and it felt like it actually stopped beating for just a moment as fear gripped him. It was obvious now that Spencer hadn't been completely forthcoming about how hurt he truly was. This was more than a hit on the head and an injured wrist.

What the hell had gone on in this room?

What had that bastard done to him?

Aaron didn't know if he wanted all the answers; he didn't know if he could handle them.

What if he was too late?

What if Spencer wasn't...

Before he could even finish the thought he was falling to his knees in front of Reid, his eyes roaming frantically over the younger man's body, trying to quickly assess every single detail. The white shirt he wore was ripped and falling off one shoulder, dried blood splattered across the left side. His shorts were slightly askew, and he was sitting in what appeared to be a pool of dark red blood—it wasn't a massive amount, but it was too much to coincide with what Reid had told him of his injuries. There was a fair amount of vomit on the floor next to him, which explained the putrid odor.

He tucked his gun back into the waistband of his jeans and brought a trembling hand up to gently move the hair away from Spencer's face, hissing when he saw a gash marring his left temple. Blood was drying where it had dripped down his cheek and a large bruise darkened his jaw. He was too pale, and there was too much blood on the ground, and he was just too still. Aaron held his breath as his fingers trailed down the side of Reid's face to his neck, searching for a pulse—needing confirmation that his worst fears weren't his reality. When he felt a beat, rapid yet strong below cool, clammy skin, his body relaxed just a bit and he released the breath he'd been holding. Spencer was alive. He looked absolutely terrible, but he was alive.

Aaron took the phone off Reid's lap and hung it up, then pressed the dial button, fully intent on calling 911.

He stopped when he heard a moan.

Looking back up, he froze as he watched long lashes begin to flutter. A moment later heavy lids slowly opened half way, that head of messy brown hair lifted and weary hazel eyes met his—dull, lost and exhausted—and Spencer tried to speak.

"H-Hotch?" his voice was nothing but a whisper, then it promptly cracked and broke. He coughed, and cried out as his entire body shook, his face contorting into some anguished mask Aaron never wanted to see on his face again before he tried once more, "A-Are you...are you r-really here?" he rasped, "Or, is this a—a dream?"

"Spencer..." his own voice mimicked Reid's, low and tight. Choking. His throat felt like it was closing in around his words, refusing to let them leave without a fight, "I'm—yes, it's me. It's real, Spencer, it's not a dream. I'm right here."

Reid gave him the saddest little half smile at that, and he almost lost it right there. Seeing that sweet, innocent look on someone who'd just been through such a nightmare almost wrecked him. He couldn't afford to break down, though; not yet. Not until they were far away from here and Spencer was getting the medical attention he desperately needed. He had to stay strong until he was sure they were safe.

"W-Will you h-help me?" Reid asked, fresh tears beginning to fall down his face, flowing along an already well-used path of dried track marks. "I—I think I...I think I need some help..." he nodded his head, as though he wasn't entirely sure; confusion swirled in his eyes, "I...I think so..."

"Yes, I'm gonna help you," Aaron answered, slow and calm—stoic. He'd allowed himself to slip into his SSA Hotchner persona, and his voice was once again the one he used to talk with victims. It made him sick to be using it now, but it was a necessity. Reid was clearly not completely coherent, and he needed to try to get him focused while at the same time keeping his own emotions in check. "Can you tell me where you're hurt?"

"Hurt?" Spencer looked up, staring blankly at him for a moment, then mumbled, "Oh, um, yeah. My—My head hurts, and my wrist..."

He lifted his right arm and Hotch took a closer look, noting the swelling and finger shaped bruising around the area. Shallow cuts littered both of his forearms. He gently brought his hand up to Spencer's chin and tilted his head toward the ceiling, examining the cut on his temple and the bruising along his jaw more carefully. He hadn't realized there was also bruising that ran all the way down his neck, consistent with being choked or held by the throat.

He took a deep breath, trying to tamp down his rising rage, then asked as soft as he could, "Is that it?"

Reid looked at him for another minute, hesitating as his eyes darted back and forth nervously between Aaron's, then bit his lip and quietly nodded as he shifted his gaze back down to the floor.

The non-verbal answer didn't sit well with him. There had to be something else, something Spencer wasn't saying—or maybe something he couldn't say. There was just too much blood, and it didn't add up with what he was seeing.

"Spencer, you're bleeding more than you should be with these injuries," he softly pressed, "Are you sure you're not hurt somewhere else? Did he do something else? The carpet—"

The broken, anguished look that crossed Reid's usually soft and beautiful features stopped him dead in his tracks, halting the questioning as his mind tried to piece together what his eyes were seeing. He watched with sorrow as Spencer completely broke down in front of him, crumpling against the nightstand and letting out a strangled, gasping sob as his eyes scrunched shut and his head began to jerk back and forth. Hands came up to harshly pull at his hair; and he was mouthing something—a silent mantra that looked a hell of a lot like _no no no no..._.

And in that horrifying moment everything became agonizingly clear to Aaron. Understanding finally dawned on him, crashing headlong, and the revelation threatened to pull him under and drown him in despair. How had he not put it all together sooner? It was all right there, like a neon sign flashing _wake the fuck up and look around!_ The sheets in disarray—covered in blood and other things he didn't want to think about, the way Reid's clothing was torn, the red pooling on the floor. The scratches and the bruises and the sick, musky smell filling the room. All the evidence was screaming at him, but he hadn't been able to see it for what it truly was. He hadn't been able to come to the obvious conclusion.

Or perhaps he hadn't wanted to.

Maybe his mind didn't want to acknowledge the fact that the man he'd loved for years had just been sexually assaulted and he hadn't been able to do anything to stop it. He'd been fucking sleeping in, for fuck's sake! He'd been asleep while Spencer was brutally attacked and beaten and raped, repeatedly from the looks of the fucking room.

He felt his stomach trying to revolt again, his mouth watering excessively as he swallowed down rancid bile. If he saw Parker Simmons right now he was afraid he might actually kill the son of a bitch—he'd beat him to death with his bare hands. His body itched for it. It was a frighteningly familiar feeling, and one that he longed to fulfill.

He snapped out of his murderous thoughts when he heard Reid whimper from his huddled position, still clutching his head in his hands. He'd have time to deal with his anger later; right now he had much more important things to do. He had to get Spencer off the floor and to a hospital immediately; there was no telling what internal injuries he could have sustained.

"Reid, stop," he gently placed a hand on Spencer's to stop him from pulling at his hair as he softly murmured, "We need to get you up. You need a doctor, Spence."

"D-Dont!" Reid's eyes shot wide open in startled panic, wild and filled with fear as they tracked all around the room. He turned to Hotch, his hands coming right back up to yank even harder at his tangled and matted hair as he shrieked, "D-Don't call me that! Never call me that! Just please! Please, I—I can't...I'm s-sorry! I can't, I can't, I can't..."

"Shhh...it's okay," he soothed, easing Reid's hands away from his head and watching as clumps of soft chestnut curls came with them. He didn't know how to handle seeing Spencer like this, but he needed to figure it out. "I promise I won't say it again, but I need you to do something for me, too, okay?" He paused and made himself smile when Reid looked up at him, hazel eyes brimming with tears and body quivering through half-hitched sobs, "I need you to try and calm down. You're hurting yourself, Spencer. Do you think you can do that for me? Can you calm down?" Reid swallowed thickly, then gave him a tiny nod in answer, and he let out a heavy sigh of relief before continuing, "Okay. We need to get you up. Can you stand?"

Spencer just sat there for a moment, frowning, then licked at his lips and stammered, "I, um, I—I don't know. Everything hurts so much, I—I can't..."

"Hey," he met Reid's glassy gaze, "Let's just give it a try. We'll take it slow."

Spencer nodded again, and Hotch leaned in close, grabbing hold of Reid's elbows as the younger man braced against him. Carefully they rose to their feet, Aaron taking the brunt of the weight, but the instant Spencer was up he let out a piercing cry and fell forward, clinging desperately to Aaron's shoulders and gritting his teeth, "It—It h-hurts! I-I n-need to—um, I'm sorry...I don't think I...I can't walk on my own, Hotch."

"You have nothing to apologize for." Swiftly, he wrapped his arm around Reid's middle while Spencer draped his over Aaron's neck, then he helped shift them so they were standing side by side. He could feel the lithe body against him trembling as he softly tried to encourage, "You can do this. We'll take it one step at a time, as long as you need. No hurry, alright?"

"O-Okay."

Really, they did need to hurry, but he didn't want to alarm Reid. He was prepared to pull _and_ use his gun if any problems made themselves known.

Slowly, they made their way to the door, stopping at the dresser to let Reid slip into a pair of house shoes before they exited the bedroom. By the time they'd reached the living room, Spencer was shivering and panting heavily—clearly out of breath and in a tremendous amount of discomfort. The walk had drained him, and Aaron was slightly worried that he might pass out. That's when he realized what Spencer was still wearing—the ripped up t-shirt and pair of boxers that were both covered in blood. He couldn't make him go out like that.

"Are there any extra blankets?"

Reid looked at him with confusion for a moment, then followed Aaron's eyes down to his clothes. "Oh..." he gave Hotch a small, nervous half smile, "Um, th-there's some blankets in the hall closet."

"Do you think you can stand long enough for me to get one out?"

"Y-Yeah, I think so...if I have something to hold on to."

He led Reid over to lean against the back of the couch and made sure he was steady before moving to the closet and pulling out a large floral comforter. When he returned, he covered Spencer's shoulders with the blanket and then wrapped it around his shivering frame before easing him back into his arms and heading toward the front door.

"W-Wait," Reid stopped, looking back to the coffee table, "I need to get my things...my—my bags."

He shook his head. They needed to get out of the house, "We don't have time—"

"Please," Spencer cut in, giving him the saddest puppy dog eyes, "J-Just the messenger and the go-bag. My keys are in there. And, um, my gun...it's—" he paused as his body shuddered through what looked like a wave of pain, "It's in the—the safe...in the trunk of my car."

He couldn't exactly say no to those eyes, and a part of him believed Reid was fully aware of that fact. He gave the younger man a slightly exasperated huff, made sure he was still steady on his feet and then turned to grab the two bags. "These and the gun. That's all we're taking right now." Spencer quickly nodded his approval of the terms, and Aaron fished the keys out of the messenger bag. Once he had everything he moved back to wrap his arm around Reid, "I'm gonna call the team on the way to the ER." Spencer instantly tensed and tried to protest, but Aaron brought a finger up to his lips to halt him. "They need to secure the scene," he gently explained, "And when they're done they can get some more of your things, okay?"

"Hotch, I don't want them coming here and seeing this!" His eyes were misty as he met Aaron's gaze, "They, they can't—"

"Spencer, they're your friends and they're gonna wanna help. Besides," he hesitated, unsure whether he should say the next bit, "This place, it's—it's a crime scene now."

Reid's brows furrowed, "Only if I press charges."

"If?" his own eyebrows flew up to his hairline in astonishment, " _If_ you press charges?"

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was Spencer actually contemplating letting this asshole off the hook? That was completely, _profoundly_ unacceptable. He didn't think he could just stand by and do nothing anymore; he'd done enough of that, he was too fucking involved now. Seeing Spencer in that room, in the state he'd been in—pale and bloody and looking half dead—had flipped a switch in his head. Spencer Reid was one of the most important people in his universe, and therefore this _was_ his business; he was making it his fucking business.

"Yes," Reid quickly answered, " _If_ I press charges. I didn't say I was going to."

"He assaulted you, Reid!"

"You think I don't know that!?" Spencer snapped, eyes wide and manic as he yelled, "I was there, Hotch! In case you weren't aware, it was kinda hard for me to miss!" He tried to pull away, jerking out of Aaron's hold before he could stop him and turning toward the door as his screams morphed into wails, "I was fucking there! I was there! And—And _he_ was there! And he made sure—oh he made damn sure! He made absolutely sure that I knew exactly what was happening every fucking second!" He took a deep, shuddering, desperate breath, his voice cracking and his feet wavering as his body quaked through continued sobs, "He made sure of it! He made sure I knew what he was doing! He did...he made sure...and I—I couldn't do anything...I couldn't—"

When Spencer stumbled Hotch immediately caught him and pulled him back up against his chest, holding him securely as his legs completely gave out and he began to weep. Long, slender fingers clenched into Aaron's shirt and fists hit at his chest as Reid's tears soaked the fabric, and he let a few of his own finally slip free.

"Shhh...It's okay," he murmured, running a hand through wild hair, "I've got you. You're safe now, and I've got you. Shhh...just take slow, deep breaths Spencer." The body in his arms shook, and he held on tighter as Spencer's cries began to slowly quiet and wane. He tried to keep his voice steady and even as he coaxed Reid out of his panic, "There you go. I've got you, and I'm not going anywhere. Just calm down. You're safe. Calm down and come back to me..." Soon, Spencer's breathing had relaxed and he'd stopped crying enough that he pulled back to look at Hotch. "That's better," Aaron smiled, meeting his gaze and wiping away the tears from his cheeks, "You don't have to make any decisions now, alright? But I'd still like to get the team over here. If you decide to press charges we'll need the evidence."

Spencer looked at him for another moment, contemplating, then silently nodded his head. The answer was good enough for him and they carefully made their way out the door, Aaron locking it behind them before helping Reid to the SUV. When they got there he opened the passenger's side and guided him in.

"Wh-What about my car, Hotch?" Spencer asked as Aaron opened the back door and put the bags in the seat.

"We can get it later. Right now my main concern is you. You need to be seen by a doctor, Reid." He attempted to keep his own panic out of his voice, but they'd spent much longer in the house than he'd wanted, and the entire time Spencer had still been bleeding. It was difficult for him not to let his fear show. He'd feel so much better once they were someplace he knew Reid would be safe if his condition worsened. He moved back to the passenger's door as he looked toward the Volvo, "What's the code for the safe?"

"34-55-89-144-233-377-610-987."

He raised his brows in disbelief, panic rising up again, but for an entirely new reason.

"It's part of the Fibonacci sequence," Reid quickly supplied, a tone of obviousness in his voice.

Of course it was.

There was no way he would be able to remember that. Without saying another word he turned away, reciting the numbers in his head over and over as he moved to Spencer's car and opened the trunk. He punched the code in and breathed a sigh of relief when the safe clicked open, then picked up the Smith and Wesson and quickly closed the trunk as he turned back to the SUV. When he climbed into the driver's seat he looked over to Reid, who was holding a blue and orange dinosaur and regarding it skeptically.

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Jack wanted you to have Spike until you're feeling better."

"Really?" Spencer's voice lilted and he hugged the stegosaurus close to him as he leaned back against the seat, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, "Um, tell him...thanks."

After he'd backed out of the driveway and headed in the direction of the nearest hospital Aaron picked up his phone from the middle console and dialed David Rossi's number. It rang twice and then a gruff and very annoyed voice answered.

" _Please don't tell me someone was murdered."_

"Dave, I'm sorry to call but I need the team." He tried to keep his voice professional, but there was a small tremor to it that he was sure Rossi had picked up on, "Look, I know we're supposed to be on stand down this weekend, but this is an emergency."

" _What's going on, Aaron?"_ Dave's voice turned soft and serious, _"Are you and Jack alright?"_

"Yeah, we're fine, but I need you to call Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ. You need to go to Parker Simmons' house and secure it. There's—" he lowered his voice as much as he could, "There's...been an assault."

" _Parker Simmons? Isn't that the name of the guy Reid's been shacking up with?"_

"Yes, it is."

" _Aaron?"_ There was an unvoiced question in the reply that demanded an answer.

"Dave, I promise I'll explain everything later," Hotch glanced over to Reid and his heart ached as he watched a tear roll down the genius' cheek, "Don't park in the driveway; go down the street a ways. There's a good chance Simmons will be back this afternoon."

" _Alright,"_ he huffed, _"I'll call the team. But their gonna wanna know what's going on."_

"I know."

" _You better take care of him, Aaron."_

"I will," he growled, a fire of protectiveness burning deep in his chest. He wasn't planning on doing anything else. "I'm taking him to the ER now. I'll keep you all updated."

He hung up the phone and looked back to the passenger's seat once more.

"They're all gonna know now," Spencer softly mumbled, "They're gonna see it all. Everything. They're gonna see everything he did..."

"They're not gonna think any differently of you, Spencer," he tried to soothe, "I promise you, they won't."

"No," Reid sighed, resting his head back against the seat, "They'll just think I'm a victim again."

Spencer brought his hand up to cover his mouth as another tear slipped down his face, and he hugged the stuffed animal a little tighter while he stared out the window.

The rest of their journey was marked by heavy, sorrowful silence.

.


	7. It's Personal

Chapter Seven

It's Personal  


.

When Derek Morgan walked into the bedroom his heart immediately sank to the floor at the sights and smells that greeted him. It was nothing new, really; and he'd definitely seen a lot worse doing this job. But what made it almost unbearable was knowing that the blood covering the bed and the floor didn't belong to some random victim, it belonged to Spencer Reid. The metallic scent of copper filling the air was from his best friend's blood. Spencer had been the victim here, the one who'd suffered in this room, and that knowledge was enough to make his stomach violently clench up and try to rebel. This was so far removed from most of the other shit they'd seen, and so much more difficult to deal with because it involved one of their own.

It was personal.

Excruciatingly fucking personal.

And it made him want to hit something...a wall, a door, Parker Simmons' face.

There wasn't time for that right now, though, so he choked down his anger and forced himself to move further into the room. He was intent on examining it just like he would any other crime scene on any other day for any other case.

When he got closer to the bed he noticed several strands of long, golden brown hair littering the pillow; there were too many to have fallen out on their own. Spencer had most likely been dragged into the room by his hair, then thrown onto the bed. The sheets were messy and crumpled up, consistent with a struggle. Reid hadn't made it easy at least; he'd probably put up a fight.

He tried not to, but he couldn't help picturing the scene in his mind's eye as he walked through all the details in his head. He could almost hear Spencer pleading with his attacker, and the hateful things Simmons no doubt said to him in return. Imaginary screams echoed in his ears; his eyes closed and his jaw clenched tight, trying his best to will them away.

He glanced down to the blood on the floor and saw a pool of what looked like half digested food and bile covering the carpet beside it. Morgan's stomach lurched and he threw the back of his hand up to cover his mouth and nose as he tried to breathe through the overwhelming nausea that had once again made itself known. Tears filled the corners of his eyes, stinging with the sheer effort of the attempt, but he wiped them away before they could fall. He needed to pull himself together and do his job. He was a profiler for god's sake. He wasn't going to break down here, not when there was work to do. He'd allot himself some time to cry later if he still needed it, when he was alone.

After he got his faculties under control he looked back down to a phone he'd noticed lying on the floor; and glancing up to the nightstand he saw the cradle it belonged to. That was most likely what Reid had used to call for help. Parker hadn't removed it from his reach, so the man must have thought Spencer wouldn't use it—either because when he'd left the kid had been unconscious or he'd merely believed he had enough control over Reid that he wouldn't call for help. If it was the latter, then Spencer had to have been cognizant enough of the situation to put on a convincing act.

"Good thinking, Kid," he mumbled, voice loud and heavy in the silence.

Emily quietly moved up to stand next to him, taking in the scene herself. They just stood there, side by side for a few moments, neither speaking, then she began to say aloud what she'd probably been thinking.

"It looks like he tried to get up and fell," she theorized, pointing to the blood on the carpet, "Judging by the amount of blood he was probably sitting on the floor for a while."

"Rossi said that's where Hotch found him," he growled, jaw tight and eyes narrowed in on the stain, "Said he was practically passed out against the bed. Dammit!" He clenched his fists and tried to suppress the returning urge to hit something, "He didn't fuckin' deserve this."

"No one deserves this, Morgan," Emily softly replied, pulling out her phone and snapping several photos of the area.

"But it's Reid, Prentiss!" he yelled, "I mean, come on! Hasn't the kid been through enough!?"

That time he couldn't hold back his anger and he turned, slamming his fist into the closet door behind him. The sound of wood splitting echoed off the walls. He couldn't stop thinking about how Spencer must have felt when Simmons had been on him; when the man had hurt him and used him.

Those thoughts were bringing his own painful memories back to the surface. Memories of how he'd felt all those years ago with Carl Buford. The man still haunted him to this day, like a damn ghost, and now Reid was probably doomed to suffer the same exact fate. It was obviously a different situation; he'd only been a kid; but then again, so was Reid in a way. This sham of a relationship was the only real one Spencer had ever been in. He was inexperienced and a little naive when it came to romance, and that asshole had seen his vulnerability and taken advantage of it.

He knew Reid wasn't a child—far from it. He was a genius, brilliant and accomplished and strong in his own way. His mind was the most powerful weapon the BAU had. He could hold his own with the deadliest of unsubs, but he was still the baby of the team and it was hard not to think of him as a little brother at times. Part of Morgan felt responsible for protecting him, and he'd completely failed at his job—just like he'd failed with Hankel, and the anthrax, and Meyers. And because he'd failed him Reid was going to have a new demon to fight against every day for the rest of his life.

"I shoulda been paying closer attention to him," he murmured, "Something was clearly wrong and I didn't even fuckin' notice."

Emily moved toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Morgan, he's a grown man _and_ an FBI agent. It's not your job to keep him safe in his private life." When he looked at her she gave him a small smile, "But you know, you can still help him. You can be there for him now."

She was right, of course. He wasn't responsible for what Reid did in his private life, but he couldn't help thinking that he was. They were a family, and family looked out for one another. He let out a long breath and gave her a nod as he continued to scan the room.

"Hotch wanted us to pack up some of his things, mainly just clothes for now." Turning to the closet, he opened the splintered door and looked inside for a bag. He found an FBI duffle and pulled it out, assuming it was Reid's, and handed it over to Prentiss, "Can you put some clothes in here? Um, comfortable pants and shirts I guess. And his toiletries...and some books, maybe?"

"Okay, but I'm gonna have to close my eyes when I get to his unmentionables," she lightly chuckled, easing a bit of the tension as she took the bag and moved over to the dresser.

He huffed out a small laugh, grateful for her attempt to lighten the mood, and turned back to the closet, giving it a more thorough look. There was a small section devoted to button ups, ties, sweater vests and cardigans, but most of the clothes hanging up in the space were very clearly not Reid's. They were too designer, too expensive, and definitely too metrosexual. In fact, almost everything he saw in the closet had to belong to Simmons, and it made him wanna punch the door again. It almost seemed like Spencer didn't actually live there; Parker was all over everything—like he didn't want the kid taking up any more room than absolutely necessary.

If that were the case, though, then why the hell did he have Reid move in at all? Morgan knew the answer before he'd finished thinking the question—control. Simmons wanted Spencer under his roof and under his thumb, but he didn't want him thinking he had any real claim over the space. This was Parker's house, and Reid was only being allowed to stay there.

"Typical," he mumbled to himself, rubbing his hand over his head, "You deserve so much better than this, Pretty Boy..."

He walked further in, continuing to examine the area. His eyes narrowed when he noticed what looked like a patch low down on the wall by the floor, tucked away into the far corner. Crouching down, he moved some of the clothes out of the way and took a closer look. It wasn't a patch job, really, but more of a cover—a piece of drywall that was concealing an opening of some kind. He fumbled with it for a minute until he was finally able to pull it free, revealing a hole in the wall. He debated whether he should stick his hand in—there was no telling what kind of critters could be lurking—but his curiosity got the better of him and he reached inside the compartment. His breath hitched when his fingers brushed up against something small, smooth and cool to the touch. There were actually several items piled together, and he grabbed what he could in one hand and pulled it out. He had an inkling of what it was, but when he verified it with his own eyes his stomach plummeted and ice seeped into his veins. He was staring down at two vials of clear liquid and several packaged syringes.

Holy fuck.

He studied the labels on the vials, although in his gut he already knew exactly what they were. He also knew they weren't Spencer's, though; they just couldn't be. He had no doubt about it. The kid's sobriety was way too important to him. He wouldn't screw that up, and Morgan wasn't going to believe any differently unless Reid told him so himself.

That only left one other option: the drugs were Simmons', and it couldn't be a coincidence that it just so happened to be what Spencer had been addicted to.

"Dammit, Kid," he muttered, "What the hell did you get yourself into with this guy?" He pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and dropped the vials and syringes inside, then stood and moved back into the main bedroom, "Prentiss."

She stopped stuffing pajamas in the bag and met his gaze, then her eyes slowly drifted down to what he was holding. "Is that..."

"Yeah, it is." He shook his head and let out a heavy sigh, "It's Dilaudid..."

* * *

JJ stared at the cracks in the wall, tinted red, and tried to reconcile the fact that the damage had been caused by Reid's head hitting it. Someone had hurt Spencer, her Spence, and it was taking her back to that cold February night in Georgia all those years ago. She'd been so scared that she'd never see her best friend again; but then she _had_ seen him again, in one of the most awful ways imaginable. She'd seen him through a computer screen while he was being beaten and tortured. The entire team had been forced to watch him literally die in that shack, and then they'd also witnessed him come back to life. When they'd finally found him in the graveyard she'd clung to him like a lifeline, trying desperately to convince herself that he was truly there and not merely some mirage her mind had made up. It had taken her a few minutes to believe he was alive and safe.

She didn't have that now.

She hadn't seen Spence at all today. All she'd seen today was his blood on the wall, broken glass and crumbling plaster...all echoes of the trauma and violence that had happened to him while they were all enjoying their Saturday off, oblivious.

The thought made her sick to her stomach.

She wanted nothing more than to leave this evil house and go to Reid. She wanted to burst into the hospital and find him. She wanted to see him with her own eyes so she'd know he was really there, still alive and still breathing. She knew Hotch was with him, but somehow that didn't prove as much of a comfort to her as she felt actually seeing him would.

Part of her wondered why Spence had even called Hotch for help in the first place. She would've assumed he'd call Morgan or herself if he was in trouble, and it seemed a little odd that he'd reached out to their boss instead, especially since he'd had a small crush on the man for a while. Of course, Hotch was always good in a crisis so maybe that's why he'd done it; he'd needed someone calm and collected to take control of the situation.

She heard Rossi speaking behind her and turned to watch him as he started piecing together the possible events of the morning.

"It looks like Simmons found the receipt from the bar and got angry."

Her gaze landed on the table, and she studied the paper and Reid's cell phone, then sniffed and wiped at her eyes as her emotions once again made themselves known. She needed to pull herself together and do her job. She was a profiler for god's sake. She could break down later, after this was all over and she was home, behind closed doors where only Will could see her.

Clearing her throat, she joined in on the speculation, "Yeah, and um, then they got into an argument." She motioned to the kitchen and the broken plates on the floor, "He was most likely thrown against those cabinets."

"He must have said something Parker didn't like," Dave continued, playing off her statement and pointing at the wall behind her, "Because from the looks of it his head was slammed against that wall. It had to have been pretty hard, too, for it to crack as bad as it did. After that, he was probably too dazed to put up much of a fight."

"Oh god..." JJ closed her eyes and covered her mouth, muffling a sob that wanted to escape. "I—I just can't believe Spence was dealing with something like this, Rossi. Why didn't he say anything to someone? Why didn't he do something before," she paused and hopelessly looked around the room, throwing her hands up in the air, "Before all _this_ happened?"

"A lot of times domestic abuse victims stay quiet," he sighed, "Especially if they're men. There's a stigma associated with it, and they don't wanna be seen as weak."

"But we're talking about Spence here!" she blurted, her anger and sorrow mixing heavily in her chest, "He's too smart for this, Rossi!" She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. "I just don't understand why he didn't ask us for help," she muttered, "We're supposed to be his family. He's Henry's godfather..."

"I don't know, JJ. Maybe he was afraid of what Parker would do," there was a pause and then he hesitantly added, "Or, perhaps he was ashamed that he'd let himself get in a situation like this and he didn't want us to know about it. He's kept things from the team before."

That broke her heart.

What Rossi said was true, of course. Spence had kept things from them before. Her mind went back to Georgia again, and the aftermath of Tobias Hankel. Reid had kept a drug problem hidden from them for months, and then he'd gotten clean by himself as well. He'd done it all without actually telling them about any of it. He'd confessed everything after the fact, but while he'd been in the midst of it all he'd chosen to do it alone. Thinking that Spence could have felt too alone or too ashamed to come to them for help was almost more than she could handle; and once again she was struck with an intense desire to leave this horrific scene to go find him, wrap him up in her arms and tell him everything was going to be okay.

But then there was also another part of her that really kinda wanted to kick his ass. He was a genius. He should have known better than to believe that they'd think any less of him for this. Hadn't they all been through enough together by now to be able to trust each other? She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn't realize when Rossi pulled his gun and aimed it at the front door.

"Dave, what are you—"

He put a finger up to his lips to silence her, and she immediately pulled her own side arm once she heard keys rattling. A moment later the knob turned, the door opened, and the two profilers found themselves staring at a tall brunet with piercing blue eyes. Hotch had been right about parking down the street, and she was extremely thankful that they'd listened to him now that she was face to face with the monster that had hurt Reid, her gun happily aimed at his head.

Simmons looked between the two agents, a confused expression on his face as he cocked his head and stepped further into the room.

"Hands where I can see them!" Rossi yelled, and Parker's lips curved up ever so slightly as his hands began to lift.

JJ stared at the man smiling back at them, taking in his appearance and his demeanor. She'd never actually met him. When Spence had first started seeing him the two had gone out with the team a few times, but she'd never been with them. She had to admit, he didn't look nearly as evil as she had anticipated. There was nothing in his face that appeared sinister or worrisome. Nothing on the surface that screamed _be wary of this one_ or _don't trust him_ or anything of the like. In fact, the man looked downright inviting. He looked...nice, even...like someone you'd wanna hang out with. Well dressed, put together, confident and attractive. She could see how Spence would have been drawn to him. He was charismatic. It was a little difficult for her to believe that this was the same guy who'd brutally attacked her best friend mere hours ago.

That was, until he spoke.

"Well, what do we have here? Did Spence go crying to his body guards?" Simmons smirked, "It looks like I can't trust my baby at all now, can I?"

"Parker Simmons," Rossi moved closer to him, and JJ followed behind, "You're under arrest for assaulting a Federal agent."

"Oh please!" Parker laughed, staring right at JJ, those frigid eyes boring into her and making her shift uncomfortably, "I didn't assault him. Far from it, actually. All I did was give him what he asked for. You don't seem to know Spence very well..." he paused, then his lip curled and he snarled, "He likes it when I give it to him rough."

Dave lowered his gun while JJ kept hers trained on Simmons. The man continued to leer at her while his hands were jerked behind his back and cuffed. She thought Rossi had been a bit harsher than absolutely necessary, but Parker could have been trying to resist arrest.

She'd ask Dave about that later.

"I think what you did to him was slightly more than that, don't you?" Rossi asked from behind him.

"I _told_ you he likes it," Parker sneered, his gaze still fixed on her, eyes moving up and down her body. It was unnerving, and it made her shiver involuntarily. She hoped he didn't notice. "My sweet little twink genius is a wild thing in the sack. You should see him, blondie," he paused and gave her a wink as he licked his lips, "I'm sure I could arrange for you to have a front row seat the next time he begs me to fuck him into the mattress. Maybe you could even join in. Would you like that?"

"Shut up," she growled, "You're never gonna hurt him again."

"He was fine when I left!" he yelled, then quirked a brow and chuckled, "He even told me how much he loved me..."

"He wasn't fine. He was barely fuckin' conscious you piece of shit!"

JJ looked over to see Morgan and Prentiss emerging from the bedroom, Emily's gun drawn and Derek looking absolutely murderous. Before Parker even had a chance to retort, Morgan lunged at him, throwing a right hook and punching him square in the nose. The hit sent both of them crashing to the floor, Morgan landing on top of the other man and straddling him as he landed another punch to his mouth. She thought he was just going to keep on hitting him, and no one seemed to be in much of a hurry to pull him off until he grabbed his gun and shoved it directly in Parker's bloodied face.

"Morgan, that's enough!" Rossi tried, and Prentiss nervously added, "Yeah, he's not worth it!" but it was as though their friend didn't even hear them.

"What the hell is this?!" Derek snarled, glaring daggers at Parker as he held up a clear baggie with what looked a whole lot like drug paraphernalia inside.

When JJ saw it she gasped and threw her hand up to cover her mouth. Did Spence have drugs in the house? Was that what that was? His stash? She hadn't thought the situation could get any worse, but apparently she'd been wrong.

Simmons glared right back at Morgan, then licked at his split lip as he quickly glanced to the vials and syringes in the bag. When he brought his eyes back up to Derek he was actually smirking; he looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. "Well," he huffed, "Spence does have a sorted history with addiction. You know that, though, right? After all, he's an addict because of you lot; it's all your fault he's the way that he is. You practically handed him over to that lunatic!" His words were like venom, and his expression was sadistic as he grinned up at Morgan, ignoring the weapon still pointed at his face, "He confides in me, though. He knows that he can trust _me_. _I_ didn't watch him get tortured while I sat on my ass and did nothing!"

"No," Morgan snarled, jamming the barrel of his gun harshly against Simmons' cheek, "No, all you did was beat him, rape him, and leave him here alone to fuckin' bleed out!"

"I said that's enough!" Rossi pushed forward and grabbed Derek's arm, yanking him off the other man and hissing in his ear, "Morgan, cool it. _Now._ "

"He's been struggling lately. You know, with the drugs..." Parker continued as he laid there, still looking up at Derek, "But I've been helping him through it. I've been keeping his mind on... _other things_."

"I'll kill you, you sick son of a bitch!"

"Morgan, shut up!" Rossi ordered, pulling him further back, "Get it together, Derek."

Emily moved up then and helped Simmons back to his feet, albeit begrudgingly, and Morgan never let his eyes drift away from him. He did give Dave a slight nod to indicate he was in control enough for the older man to let go of his arm, though; and once Rossi did Derek took a couple steps closer, countering, "You're completely full of it, Simmons. There's no way this shit's his. He'd never have it here, his sobriety's too important to him."

"Maybe you don't know him as well as you think you do."

"Nuh uh," he shook his head, "I'm not buying it. This is yours, I know it is, and I wanna know why it's here." He took another step closer, his gaze still glued to Parker, "So tell me why the fuck you have it!"

JJ watched as Simmons stared Morgan down for a minute, the tension between the two thick in the air, and then his lips twitched and he laughed right in Derek's face. Full out _laughed._ Maybe he was trying to provoke him again, which seemed like a dumb move considering he already had a bloody nose and a split lip—not to mention the fact that Morgan still looked like he was on a very short fuse. A moment later, though, Parker's amused expression turned frosty and rigid, and the look sent a chill down her spine.

"I don't think I wanna talk about Spence any more right now, _Morgan._..." he hatefully purred, "What I really wanna do is call my lawyer."

"Well, you can do that once you've been booked," Rossi interjected, "Prentiss, call the local precinct and let 'em know to expect us." He paused, looked between Parker and Derek, then added with a sly lilt, "Ah...tell 'em he resisted arrest."

"Gladly." She gave him a nod and shot Simmons a smirk before pulling her phone out and moving back toward the bedroom.

"He's not gonna pursue anything against me you know. He loves me, and he knows we belong together." Parker leaned into Morgan's space and narrowed his gaze, "And no matter what you try to do, you'll never be able to keep us apart. He'll always come back to me."

"Shut your fuckin' mouth," Morgan hissed, then grabbed his wrists and roughly directed him out of the house and toward the SUV, the others quickly following behind.

When they reached the car Simmons muttered, "Maybe you're just jealous."

"What the hell was that?" Derek asked, spinning him around and slamming his back up against the side of the vehicle—pinning him there.

"I said maybe you're jealous."

"And why the fuck would I be jealous?"

"Because, I'm the one he chose," Parker goaded with a sharp, bloody smile, "And I'm the one he _loves._...and I'm the only one who's ever fucked that gorgeous ass."

Morgan fisted his hand in Simmons' shirt and pushed him further into the SUV, growling, "Don't you fuckin' talk about him like that!"

"Oh but why not, _Agent Morgan?_ " Parker laughingly sneered, "I know you think it's true. After all, he's such a fucking _pretty boy_..."

.


	8. It's Not a Big Word

Chapter Eight

It's Not a Big Word

.

Spencer was lying on a gurney, his eyes closed, a stuffed stegosaurus sitting next to him and a blanket covering his body from his shoulders to his toes. He was halfheartedly listening to Hotch talk with someone on the phone, voice low and quiet. He couldn't see him—he'd have to open his eyes for that, and he really didn't think he could muster up the energy just yet—but he guessed the older man was standing close to the sliding glass door separating the darkened exam room from the rest of the ER. From the sound of it, he was pretty sure Rossi was on other end. Hotch had stepped off to the side of the room or out into the hall frequently to make various phone calls. Spencer assumed he was staying in touch with the rest of the team and keeping them apprised to the situation here.

Was that what he was?

Was he a situation?

He wiped at his eyes when he felt them start to burn with the threat of more tears.

When they'd first arrived in the emergency department he'd been taken back almost immediately; the triage nurse afraid he would pass out in the waiting room. Apparently he'd looked like hell.

He'd most definitely felt like it.

He wondered what the other people waiting there must have thought when Hotch had burst through the doors with him. He had to have looked a fright. Maybe that was the real reason he'd been taken back so quickly; maybe the nurse hadn't wanted him to scare all the other patients.

The first thing they'd done was take his clothes from him, giving him a measly hospital gown to wear in return. Hence his need to pull the blanket clear up to his neck; he didn't want any part of his body exposed. He imagined the gown was probably a lot better than what he'd come in with, though; and if nothing else, it was at least more sanitary. His shirt was ripped to shreds and he'd been covered in blood and other fluids that made his stomach turn.

He felt filthy, and he longed to take a shower.

When he'd entered the exam room, the nurse had tried to help him change into the aforementioned gown, but he'd had a minor freak out at the idea of undressing in front of anyone, let alone a stranger, and then insisted on changing by himself. The process took him a while, and it was excruciating to the point of absolute exhaustion, but he'd managed to do it. Afterwards Hotch had practically carried him back to the bed, and if he hadn't been in so much pain he might have been a little more embarrassed by that.

As it was, he couldn't gather enough strength to really care.

He was seeing a side to his boss that he'd never seen before; a side that was much softer and gentler, yet still strong and commanding at the same time. Aaron was being so kind to him, so attentive to all of his needs, and it made him feel safe and protected. He was sure it was only because of how pitiful he must look, but a part of him held onto a hope that it was because of something else. Something more. He liked to think that maybe Hotch cared for him in the same way that he cared for Hotch. That was absurd, of course; and he knew he shouldn't even be thinking about such things considering where they currently were and why. Given the events of the day and his physical condition, those thoughts were hardly appropriate.

He still couldn't believe he was really here, in a hospital hooked up to an IV, a blood pressure cuff and a heart monitor while they waited for lab test results. The doctor was worried about anemia, dehydration and sexually transmitted diseases along with all his other injuries. He'd told her he hadn't lost enough blood to be overly concerned and that Parker was clean, but she'd still had the nurse draw blood for an STD panel, a CBC and a CMP. Then they'd taken swabs to send off for testing as well. His IV was inserted at the same time they'd taken his blood, and he was now receiving a fluid bolus with a piggybacked dose of prophylactic antibiotics.

Once all that had been started they'd taken him to radiology for an MRI of his head, which came back clear. He'd been rather surprised that he didn't have a concussion; he was sure he'd lost consciousness at some point.

His head certainly felt like he had a concussion.

They'd also done an x-ray of his wrist, which thankfully showed no fracture, but he did have a severe sprang. A splint was placed on the arm and it was wrapped rather tightly with an ace bandage. Currently, it was resting atop a pillow at his side.

Dr. Cameron wanted to give him something for the pain, but he'd immediately refused purely out of habit. He'd regretted the decision instantly. There was a part of him that wished he'd just remained quiet and allowed them to give him whatever they'd wanted. The warm, weightless, _I_ _don't have a care in the world_ feeling that came with the drugs was frighteningly alluring to him at the moment; and if Hotch hadn't been there he was sure he would have said yes.

That was a terrifying thought, and he tried not to dwell on it.

His other injuries had been cleaned after that. The small cuts along his arms from where he'd fallen into the broken glass were superficial and required nothing more, but the gash to his temple had needed a few steri-strips to hold the skin together. At least he hadn't needed stitches on his face. They'd put antibiotic ointment over the scratches and nail marks marring his back and neck, but nothing much could be done for the bruises that littered his body.

That had all exhausted him even more than he'd been when he'd arrived, but by far the worst part presently had to be the internal rectal exam. Dr. Cameron was very kind and gentle, her sweet voice soothing as she'd explained everything she was going to do before she'd actually done it. She had a wonderful bedside manner, but it didn't stop him from being utterly horrified at the idea of being exposed and vulnerable in the most humiliating way possible—at least to him.

Hotch had been there too, though; and his strong and unwavering presence had helped to calm him down. Aaron stayed right next to his head the entire time, rambling on and on about nothing in particular, but it had helped keep him distracted from what was happening to him elsewhere. That and having Spike to clutch onto. He'd been left with a funny, tingly feeling in his stomach whenever he thought about Jack letting him use his favorite toy. The boy hardly knew him, and to give something like that up to a stranger was immensely generous and very mature. The sentiment had almost made him cry.

In the end, the cause of his bleeding had been a moderate laceration to the anterior rectal wall, probably from the force of the initial penetration during the attack. He'd never felt such an excruciating amount of pain, so it was easy for him to believe that that was indeed the cause. Dr. Cameron had given him a local anesthetic to numb the area before she'd repaired it; and it'd taken three stitches that would, thankfully, dissolve on their own after about a week.

Hotch had held his hand through the entire procedure.

He found himself smiling just a little at the thought. He was also embarrassed by how needy he'd been, though. He already looked so weak, and having to have his hand held like a child didn't help that image in the slightest. But if Aaron had thought anything like that about him he hadn't shown it; he'd done nothing but make him feel accepted and cared for the whole time.

Blessedly, he was still feeling the effects of the anesthesia and therefore wasn't in a huge amount of pain because of it. This was probably the best he'd felt physically all day. He tried to enjoy the reprieve as he continued to lie on the bed, eyes closed while Hotch concluded his phone conversation by the door.

"Okay. Thanks for taking care of things... ….We're waiting on the doctor... ….He's resting now... ….No, he hasn't said if he will... ….I know, Dave, but I'm not gonna force the issue... ….It's probably best to stay away for now... ….He doesn't want visitors... ….Yeah, I don't think he'll be admitted... ….I'll let you know when he's released. Tell everyone he's doing okay."

He heard Hotch hang up and let out a heavy sigh, then footsteps were approaching his bed and he opened his eyes, turning to look up at his boss.

"They're done at the house," Aaron started, then stopped briefly before hesitantly adding, "Simmons showed up while they were there."

His whole body instantly tensed and his hands flew up to grip the bed rails. He glanced toward the digital clock on the wall and huffed in surprise. He hadn't realized how late it was. Everything had been a bit of a blur for him since he'd woken up. Parker'd told him he'd be back home by mid afternoon and it was 3:00 pm now. They'd been here for almost three hours already.

"Reid, it's okay," Hotch soothed, "He's under arrest. Morgan's taking him to the local station right now."

"Did—Did he say anything?"

The thought of his boyfriend—or, _ex-_ boyfriend—showing up at the house while the team was there had him mortified and on edge. There was no telling what horrible things Parker may have told them about their relationship, or about him.

About how weak and pathetic he was.

"Nothing of importance," Aaron answered, "But, um, he may have resisted just a little. Apparently Morgan had to hit him a couple times."

"Did he, now..." he asked skeptically.

He tried not to let his lips quirk up ever so slightly.

Hotch just shrugged and concluded, "He lawyered up pretty quickly after that."

"He's got a lot of powerful friends. He's probably gonna be out of jail by tonight, Hotch."

And once he was out Spencer didn't know what was going to happen. Would Parker actually leave him alone? Just like that? It was hard to believe considering he'd called for help and left the house after he'd specifically been told not to go anywhere. That kind of disobedience had to have made Park angry, and just the thought of that had him trembling.

But maybe Parker _would_ leave him alone. Maybe he'd go on with his life and find someone new. Would he end up doing the same thing to the next guy, though?

Probably.

Most definitely.

And what if Spencer wasn't the first person the man had done this to? What if Parker had other exes he'd hurt and they hadn't done anything to stop him? What if Spencer was some other guy's next guy? That thought made him queasy. He didn't want anyone else going through what he was going through right now because of Parker Simmons. Hotch started talking again and he looked back up to meet his gaze.

"There was enough evidence at the house to hold him on assault charges. Assaulting a Federal agent is a serious offense. He won't get out until his arraignment, and that'll only happen if the judge sets bail."

"Or, you know, he could just be released on his own recognizance," he sadly added, "He's very good at appearing innocent and sweet. Either that, or I'm just gullible."

"I don't think that's gonna happen, Reid. But we can help ensure that it doesn't if you agree to—"

"To what?" he snapped, cutting Aaron off. He was so fucking tired of everyone here asking him what he wanted to do; or telling him what _they_ thought he should do. "To what?" he repeated, more heated, "If I agree to a _rape kit?_ Why can't you just say it, Hotch? Why can't you just say it instead of skirting around the word? It's not a big word. It's not hard to pronounce, is it? It's easy. It's simple. It's...it's—"

A lump caught in his throat and he gasped for air, the beeping of the heart monitor beside him picking up speed. He saw Aaron give him a wary look, and he could feel the precarious lid he'd shut over his emotions starting to slip. He feared at any moment everything was going to bubble up and erupt, obliterating him in utter devastation.

"Spencer..." Hotch started, but stopped when Reid shot him piercing glare.

He noticed the pained expression on the man's face—how miserable he looked—and he knew he was lashing out at the wrong person, but he didn't really care. There was no one else here, and the one person who deserved his wrath more than anyone else in the world was also the one person he didn't know if he could ever face again.

"You want me to let them do a rape kit on me. You want me to let them because—because that's what h-happened..." he saw Aaron moving closer and he put a hand out between them to stop him. Tears started to feverishly pluck at his eyes, "Th-That's what happened, right? It is, isn't it?" His gaze softened and he looked to Hotch imploringly, silently begging the man to tell him otherwise. Aaron didn't say anything, though; he just took another step closer to the bed. "I was—I was r-raped—" His voice broke on that simple little word, and he let his tears go as all the emotions he'd bottled up inside began to flow out of him, "Oh god. I was...I was r-raped. I was fucking _raped_ , Hotch!" He was hyperventilating, bawling, angry at himself for letting it all happen—for being so fucking stupid and weak. "I thought I loved him!" he screamed the words out with hate and agony on his lips, his body trembling through uncontrolled sobs, "I—I loved him! I loved him and h-he did this to m-me! He fucking raped me! He—He said he loved me..." his eyes looked back up, Hotch was closer still, "Why would he do this, Aaron?! How could this happen?! I can't believe I let this fucking happen!" Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder and he flinched away, the abrupt movement jarring his wrist and sending a throbbing ache up his arm. He closed his eyes and let the physical pain take over and mix with everything else—he let _all_ the pain he'd been hiding from take him over. "I l-let him," he mumbled through shuddering, hiccuped breaths, "I let him do it. I j-just laid there and let him do all those th-things to me. I let him, Aaron. How could I let him—"

"Shhh." The mattress dipped as Hotch sat on the edge of the bed, then arms wrapped around him. He tried again to pull away, but froze when he heard Aaron's voice directly at his ear, soft and steady and warm, "Spencer, calm down. You're getting too worked up and you're gonna hurt yourself. I want you to take a deep breath."

He tried to do as he was asked, his body still shaking as he slowly inhaled. Aaron's scent immediately surrounded him and he took another breath, focusing on the rich fragrance as he let his head fall down to rest against a strong shoulder.

"Good," Hotch praised, rubbing gentle circles along his back, "That's good. You're doing so well." Fingers came up and combed through his hair, then held him close. "Now, I need you to listen to me very carefully. You didn't _let_ him do anything; the injuries you have are proof of that, Spencer. Absolutely none of this is your fault, do you understand me? You did what you had to do to get through it, and you did what you had to do to survive it."

"But I'm weak," he muttered, leaning further into the warmth of the body holding him. His hands came up to cling to Aaron's back, "Just like I was with Tobias. I let him do all those terrible things to me. I—I _deserved_ them..."

Quickly but calmly, Hotch pulled away and gripped onto Reid's shoulders, staring straight into his eyes, "Spencer, you are _not_ weak. And there's no way in hell you deserved any of this."

He noticed Aaron's eyes flicker down to his arms for just a moment before they came back to his face. Hotch was trying to examine him. He could tell the man was attempting to covertly look for something. There was another piece to this nightmare that he had apparently not been made aware of yet—something else had happened at the house.

"Wh-What is it?" he asked, terrified of the answer but unable to stop himself from asking the question, "What aren't you telling me, Hotch?"

"It's Morgan." There was a another slight hesitation, a little squeeze of his shoulders, "Spencer, he found something in the master closet."

He had no idea what Aaron was talking about. Almost everything in that closet belonged to Park; he kept most of his things in the guest room closet. He hardly ever even went into the master closet—Parker didn't want him snooping around.

Why on earth hadn't he thought that was suspicious before now?

He shook his head and huffed as he added it to the mental list of red flags he should have seen sooner. Instead of trying to explain any of that to Hotch, though, he just stared at him and waited for him to continue. When Aaron spoke again, he felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He couldn't breathe.

"Morgan found two vials of Dilaudid and several syringes in a hidden compartment at the back of the closet, Reid."

That...wasn't possible.

He didn't have any drugs; he'd been clean for _years._ _Literal fucking years_. His brows furrowed as he slowly intoned, "I—I don't know what that is..." He saw the momentary look of disbelief in Aaron's eyes and icy panic enveloped him. "Hotch, I mean it! I haven't done that in years!" he shook his head, once again on the verge of tears. He could feel them mocking him behind his eyelids, "Please, I swear to you! Aaron, I'm _clean!_ "

He had no idea why there was Dilaudid in the house, or why Parker would have hidden it away like that. The man wasn't a druggie. As far as he knew, Park had never used an illegal substance in his life. There could be no good explanation for its presence, but the thought of it being right under his nose the whole time had his veins instantly starting to itch.

He hated it.

"Spencer, I really wish I didn't have to ask this, but..." Aaron stopped and Reid looked up at him expectantly, "...I need to see your arms."

"Oh, um...right," he mumbled, then shakily nodded his head, "O-Okay."

He could feel heat rising in his cheeks as he put his arms out in front of him; the one with the splint proving quite awkward and difficult to position for proper inspection. Thankfully Hotch was patient and sat quietly as he maneuvered it until the crook of his elbow was exposed.

It hurt, physically _and_ emotionally, but he did understand why Aaron had asked. It was the fastest and easiest way to tell if he was lying. He was an addict, after all, and he would always _be_ an addict—even if he never touched another drug again in his life. No matter how long he was clean, he'd always be treated like this, with suspicion. After a moment he heard Hotch breath a sigh—of relief no doubt—and he pulled his arms around himself as he leaned back against the pillow, embarrassment now burning his face.

"Why, um, why would Park have Dilaudid in the house?" he timidly asked, scared of pretty much every imaginable answer.

"Does he know about what happened to you in Georgia?"

"We were together for almost a year, so yeah, I told him." They'd talked for hours about it, actually. He'd opened up and told Parker things he'd never told anyone else. He'd felt so safe that night, pouring out his heart and soul to the man he'd thought he was falling in love with. "I—I told him everything, Aaron. He even drove me to NA meetings a few times..."

"It's not really a surprise that he has it then," Hotch surmised, "He would see it as a way to control you if he needed to."

"C-Control me?"

"Yes," Aaron nodded, matter-of-factly, "People like Parker Simmons want to be in control. They're possessive and manipulative. He probably had it in case you ever tried to leave him. I imagine he planned to use it as a threat if need be—a way to make you stay with him."

"How?" he knew the answer, but for some reason he needed to hear it out loud for it to be real and not just some nightmare scenario in his head, "How would he make me stay, Hotch?"

The man didn't look like he wanted to answer, but he did anyway.

"Reid, I believe he would have either threatened to make it look like you'd relapsed," Hotch stopped and stared at him, his eyes silently asking if he truly wanted to hear the rest, "Or he would have very likely used it, actually injecting you with it as a form of chemical restraint."

"Oh god—I think I'm gonna be sick."

The mere thought of that possibility made him wanna retch, and he choked down bile at the same time that he grabbed for the emesis basin on the table next to the bed. A moment later he was violently heaving into the container and shuddering through burning waves of agony as the jerky movements jostled his battered frame. Aaron quickly gathered up his hair and held it out of his face while he murmured words of comfort to him; although he couldn't really understand what was being said. He just clung to the soothing sound, rocking back and forth as he cried and retched and dry heaved. There was nothing left to expel, but his body continued to painfully spasm, refusing to give him solace.

How in the world could he have been so profoundly _wrong_ about someone? He was supposed to be a fucking FBI profiler! How was he so blind? He knew Parker had a temper, but _this?_ Hiding drugs in the house...putting him in the hospital...threatening to kill anyone if they touched him? It was all just too much. Too fucking much! He truly thought he'd loved him, and he'd believed Parker had felt the same way. They'd been happy at one time...right?

"I can't believe this is happening," he muttered when his body finally calmed down and he'd recovered enough to catch his breath, wiping at his mouth, "It's—It's too much, Aaron."

"I know, and I'm so sorry," fingers ran across his cheek and a hand turned his head so he was looking directly at Hotch, "But you can help prevent something like this from happening to anyone else. If you press charges he could go away for a long time. I want you to know that no matter what you decide to do, though, you won't be alone. I'll be with you through it all."

"Really?" he asked, his heart skipping at the way Aaron was looking at him, "You—You won't leave me?"

"Never. I'm not going anywhere, Spencer." Hotch gave him a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "So, will you fight him? Do you think that's something you can do?"

He looked back down at the blanket covering his shivering body, hiding the cuts and bruises that Parker had placed there, and chewed on his lip as he considered what Hotch was asking him. If he pressed charges there would probably be a court case and he'd more than likely have to testify. He'd have to get up in front of a room full of strangers and tell them everything that Parker had done to him. He'd have to relive it all over and over again; for the nurse that would collect evidence from his body, for the police that would talk to him before he left the hospital, for the attorneys and the jury and the judge.

For complete strangers.

He'd look like such a victim.

But then, that's exactly what he was. He was a victim, and he just needed to accept it.

He jumped when he felt fingers slide under his hand and curl around it, then looked up into soft, chocolate eyes that were silently pleading with him to say yes. He didn't want to disappoint Aaron, and he also wanted to prove that he was strong enough to do what he knew deep down was the right thing to do. He just hoped that he actually _was_ strong enough.

Taking a deep breath, he set his jaw and squeezed tightly to Aaron's hand. "Yes," he sighed, "I—I think I can, if um, if you're with me."

"I am, Spencer," Aaron's smile grew, showing off his gorgeous dimples, "I'm with you all the way."

The sliding glass door opened then, and Dr. Cameron slipped quietly into the room, breaking the connection that had formed between the two men. Spencer let go of Aaron's hand and looked up to her, and Hotch stood from the edge of the bed to give her space if she needed it.

"Dr. Reid, how are you feeling?"

"Um, I'm okay, I guess. I'm still a bit numb, down there."

His cheeks flushed and his eyes moved down to glance at the chart she was holding. _His_ chart, filled with all sorts of information clinically detailing one of the worst things that had ever happened to him. All completely sterile and impersonal.

"That's to be expected for a little while," she smiled, then moved a bit closer, "You're lab results came back and everything looks relatively normal. I don't see any major red flags. Your H&H is a little low, but I expected that from your blood loss. It's not critical so you don't need a transfusion, but I'm going to send you home with some iron supplements. I'm also writing a prescription for a full course of antibiotics to guard against an infection where the internal laceration was repaired. Like I explained earlier, those stitches should dissolve on their own in about a week, but if you develop a fever within that time you'll need to make an appointment with your primary care physician."

He gave her a small nod and continued to listen as she told him things he already knew.

"Your arm needs to stay in the splint until the swelling goes down. You may remove it a couple of times per day, though, to shower and allow it some air. As far as pain control goes, since you don't want any narcotics I've written you a script for 800mg ibuprofen. You may alternate that with acetaminophen every four hours as needed. You're going to be quite sore for a while, Dr. Reid, and I want you to take it easy for at least a couple of weeks. You've been through a lot and your body needs time to rest and heal."

He acknowledged her with another nod, only half paying attention to what she was saying. He could tell she wasn't finished speaking, and he already knew what was coming next; it was pretty much the only thing he could really think about.

Part of him wanted nothing more than to jump out of the bed, go home and forget all of this had ever even happened. But then he came to the paralyzing realization that he didn't actually have a home to run home to. He couldn't go back and stay at Parker's and he hadn't kept his apartment after the lease had ran out. He'd contemplated it, but had decided to save money instead. He was sorely regretting that decision now.

"Have you thought any more about going forward with the SANE, Dr. Reid?" she softly asked, "We have a certified nurse here that can perform the exam for you right now if you'd like."

"Y-Yeah, um..." he anxiously turned to look at Hotch, wanting desperately to cry out _no_ and bury his head in his hands as he wept.

He knew what those exams entailed, and it made his body shudder in anticipation. But when he met Aaron's steady gaze, it felt like the older man was pouring all of his strength into him, giving him the courage he needed to move forward. If nothing else, allowing them take samples from him would put Parker Simmons into the CODIS system, which was exactly where the man belonged. If Park was in CODIS it would make it so much easier to identify him if he did ever end up hurting someone else again.

He gave Aaron a tiny, nervous smile and hesitantly reached out toward him; and when Hotch immediately took his hand and held on tight his smile grew. They sat there for another moment, Spencer letting Aaron's calmness wash over him, soothe him and ground him.

He could do this.

He just needed to get through it.

And he could get through it because he wasn't alone.

He squeezed Aaron's hand, took a deep, steadying breath and turned back to the doctor.

"Yes, I'd like to move forward with the exam."

.


	9. With Perfect Clarity

_This chapter details Reid's SANE exam, and contains a lot of talk about his assault.  
_

 _Read with caution._

* * *

Chapter Nine

With Perfect Clarity

.

"I'm very proud of you, Reid," Hotch murmured as he leaned against the railing of Spencer's hospital bed, "It takes a tremendous amount of courage and strength to be able to do this."

"It's not that big a deal, Hotch," Reid shrugged off the praise, "I'm just gonna be laying here while the nurse does all the work." He closed his eyes, and he looked so painfully tired and small and fragile in that moment. Under his breath Aaron thought he heard him faintly add, "Besides, just laying there's pretty much what I'm best at..."

"Hey, don't say that—"

He stopped mid-sentence when the glass door slid open and a nurse walked into the exam room. She was carrying a white, rectangular box in her hands as she quietly moved over to the bedside table. He couldn't help but zero in on the large print plastered along the side in bold lettering.

 _Sexual Assault Evidence Collection Kit_.

Those five words were a cold, hard slap into reality for him—and it stung a whole lot more than he'd thought it would. It was like he'd just realized why the hell he was in the damn emergency department to begin with. He hadn't pieced it all together in his mind because he'd been using all his strength to merely get through every minute that ticked by as it was happening. He'd been so completely focused on Spencer and his well being that he hadn't allowed himself to fully acknowledge what was going on.

But now the truth of the situation was crashing down around him, and the weight of it was absolutely crushing. He was standing next to a hospital bed, in an exam room, in the ER, with one of his subordinates—with one of his _friends—_ waiting for a sexual assault exam to be done.

A rape kit.

He was waiting for a specialized nurse to collect blood, hair fibers and semen from a man that had been brutally attacked and raped; a man he cared for far more than anyone truly knew, possibly even himself. When he'd woken up that morning and started making funny shaped pancakes for his son, he'd never in a million years dreamt that the day would turn out like this—in the hospital with Spencer Reid.

He glanced at the clock.

He should be at the library with Jack right about now, reading every single book they had on dinosaurs. That had been their plan. A part of him wished that's exactly what he was doing; but another part of him couldn't bear to think of Spencer going through any of this without him by his side.

He'd ran the gambit of emotions throughout the day, from surprise and worry to gripping, crippling fear to fury and rage and then finally calm control. He was presently trying to cling to that last one as if his life depended on it. He needed to remain cool, calm and collected for Spencer right now. He needed and _wanted_ to be his rock—the place Reid could go to and know he'd be safe, protected and cared for. If this had to be the inevitable outcome of the day, then Aaron wouldn't choose to be anywhere else.

"Hello, Dr. Reid," a petite brunette with sparkly glasses smiled warmly at them both as she sat the box down and carefully broke open the seal, "My name's Connie and I'm a certified SANE nurse. I'll be doing your examination today. Now I know this is very difficult for you, and I'd just like to let you know that I think what you're doing is extremely courageous." She paused and gave them another smile while Reid just stared back at her, his expression blank—bordering on catatonic, honestly. "Once I'm done, an officer will come and speak with you if you'd like to officially file charges."

Aaron watched as Spencer chewed on his lip and gave her a fraction of a nod in reply, and that's when it struck him; Reid was about to have a very invasive and exposing exam and he didn't even look like he was all there— _mentally._ It looked like he'd just kind of checked out of reality for a while; not that Hotch could blame him for wanting to escape, but that also made him question what he should do given the situation.

He was feeling a bit uneasy about being in the room.

Reid was a very private person and Aaron thought maybe the reason he seemed to be shutting down was because he didn't want him there during the procedure. Leaving was the last thing he personally wanted to do; he'd much rather stay right by Spencer's side through every bit of it, but he also wanted him to be as comfortable as possible.

"I'll, um, step out," he coughed, forcing himself to pull away from the bed and move toward the door, "Just to give you some privacy."

"NO!" Reid shrieked, and the intensity of the noise—almost inhuman in its undiluted panic—made Aaron jump as he turned on his heel to stare back at him, "Please, Aaron! Please please please don't go! Don't leave me, _please!"_

Spencer was clinging to Spike, his hands visibly shaking as scared, hazel eyes wet with tears stared right back at him, begging him to stay. That look was even more effective than the puppy dog eyes, but the real kicker was how reminiscent the look was to a face he'd seen in a cemetery seven years ago. It made his chest rumble with that same burning desire to protect that had consumed him throughout the day, and he wanted nothing more than to run back over to Spencer and scoop him securely into his arms.

The urge to keep Reid safe was so strong that it was almost a physical ache in his bones, and he glanced over to the nurse, "Can I—can I stay with him?"

"Oh yes, of course!" Connie quickly pulled a rolling stool up to the head of the bed and gave it a little pat, smiling, "You can stay right here the whole time. It'll be good for him to have you for support."

The moment he sat down Spencer was grabbing for his hand and holding on for dear life as misty, glistening eyes looked up through a mess of tangled hair. His body trembled in the bed and he was breathing a little too fast for Aaron's liking, the heart monitor beeped incessantly. His skin was clammy and pale—or, at least more so than he'd been all day—and sweat beaded his brow.

He looked utterly terrified.

The sight of it all broke Aaron's heart, and in that moment he was struck with an overwhelming desire to bend down and place a tender, grounding kiss to Spencer's sweaty forehead.

He wanted to do that, but he didn't.

He fought the urge and instead held tightly to Reid's hand.

"It's alright now, Spencer," he stared into those broken yet beautiful eyes and quietly murmured, purposefully keeping his voice even, "I'm right here and you're safe. I promise, I'll keep you safe."

"I-I-I'm sorry, Hotch—" Reid gasped, hiccuping and shuddering as he tried to calm himself down, "I'm s-sorry I'm freaking out. I just don't—I don't wanna be alone here."

"Shhh. Don't you worry about that," he soothed, shaking his head and forcing a smile, "If you need to freak out, you can. I'll still be right here with you. I'm not going anywhere, and you're not alone."

Reid gave him a nod and closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. He could hear the beep of the heart monitor begin to slow, but he never took his eyes off the body in the bed—the body littered with cuts and bruises yet somehow still stunningly beautiful even in their wake. He continued to murmur to him as he held his hand and watched him visibly quiet; and after a few minutes Connie's gentle voice broke the silence.

She'd allowed him time to get Spencer under control, and for that he was grateful.

"Dr. Reid, would you like to get started now?"

Reid broke eye contact with him and looked over to the nurse, giving her a slight, jerky nod. He never let go of Aaron's hand.

"Okay." She smiled and glanced to her notes, "First I'm going to need to ask you some questions. They're going to get a bit personal, and I apologize for that, but it's very important that you answer them as best you can. Are you ready?"

Reid nodded again, then frantically blurted, "They, um, they t-took my clothes already. I know you probably wanted to bag them up yourself but I was—um, I wasn't s-sure...ah, you know, I wasn't sure if I was even gonna do this, so, um..."

"It's perfectly alright," she assured, stopping the rant with a soft touch of fingers to Spencer's blanketed foot, "I'll get the bag with your clothing and send it along with the kit anyway. I'm just happy to help you through this process. And if at any time you need to stop or skip something we can. You're in control here. We don't have to do everything on the checklist if you start to feel uncomfortable. All you have to do is let me know you want to stop."

"I already feel uncomfortable," Spencer laughed, but it wasn't humorous at all; it was more of a shrill, manic sound in the back of his throat, "So I don't really think that's a very accurate gauge of whether or not I should continue."

Aaron gave Spencer's hand a firm squeeze, a silent and gentle way of reminding him he wasn't alone and to try to relax.

Connie just smiled at him in response to his outburst.

This was obviously not her first rodeo; she'd been trained well on how to handle panicking victims, and Reid definitely fit into that category at the moment. Aaron had half expected him to try and bolt by now, and if he wasn't so injured he probably would have.

"Either way," she softly replied, "You're still in control of what does or doesn't happen. I _will_ stop if you tell me to. Okay?"

There was an unvoiced _this isn't like what happened to you this morning, no one's going to force you to do anything_ in the look she gave Spencer, but he only voiced a tiny, "Mhm," in answer.

"Alright," she looked down to her forms, pen in hand, "Now, are you taking any current medications?"

"No. Well, I mean, unless caffeine counts."

He and Connie both chuckled at that, and Spencer gave him a confused look like he didn't know what could possibly be so funny before turning back to face the nurse.

"Any pre-existing conditions or health issues in your family?"

The hand holding his tightened exponentially then, and he heard Spencer's breath hitch.

"N-Not me, um, but—but my mom..." Reid stopped and cleared his throat, "My ah, my mother is a paranoid schizophrenic."

"Okay." Connie quickly jotted something down on her papers, then stopped and made eye contact with Reid, "Now, here's where the questions get a little more personal," she warned, "Have you had any recent _consensual_ sexual activity? Say, within the last seventy-two hours?"

He watched as Spencer's cheeks lit up a fiery red and he instantly began to rub his thumb over the back of Reid's hand, hoping the action would soothe him and remind him that he wasn't alone. This information far from the kind of thing he wanted to know or hear about, but he wasn't going to shy away from it when it was important for Reid to answer honestly.

And he wasn't going to stop supporting him just because he was afraid of hearing the truth.

"Um..." Spencer's brows furrowed and he chewed angrily at his lip. He didn't look back at Hotch when he spoke again, his voice barely audible, "Y-Yes. It was, um...last—last night."

Aaron's chest tightened, but he did his best to keep his face neutral just in case Reid turned back to him. In his mind, he was quickly putting the time frame together...from when Reid left the bar to when he'd tried to call him...and he realized that Spencer didn't answer the phone that night because he was probably with Simmons at the time. He felt the burn of jealousy deep in the pit of his stomach, even though he knew he had no right to feel that way. He had no claim over Reid; they weren't together. It was merely an irrational emotional reaction, and one that he needed to ignore.

"Was your partner the one—"

"It was the same person, yes," Spencer curtly answered, cutting he off before she could finish the question. Hotch noticed a tear roll down his face as he added, "He was the same person who, um...well, who did all _this_ to me."

Reid gestured toward his body and let out a huff as he shook his head.

"You're doing great," Aaron murmured, pushing aside his own feelings as he wiped the tear away from Reid's cheek.

Spencer glanced at him briefly, a forced smile on his lips that in no way met his eyes.

"This next question is probably the most difficult to think about, and the hardest to answer..." Connie moved from the bedside table to take a seat on the opposite side of the bed from Aaron, "Do you think you can tell me what happened this morning, Dr. Reid?"

There was a tiny whimper of a moan, and Spencer shook his head as he scrunched his eyes shut. The hand holding Aaron's squeezed painfully tight and Reid's body went noticeably stiff in the bed. When he spoke his voice was only a whisper, but it held enough power to send a chill down Aaron's spine.

"I can tell you every detail of what he did to me, Connie," he rasped, opening his eyes and staring at the foot of the bed, "I can tell you every single word he said to me, every place he _touched_ me, everywhere he _hit_ me. I—I can tell you how many times he—he c-crawled on top of me. How it—how it felt when he, when he..."

Reid's voice shattered, and his body began to tremble as he quietly sobbed, still clinging to Aaron's hand as Hotch looked toward the nurse. He thought she had tears in her eyes, but he couldn't be sure because his own were blurring his vision.

"He has an eidetic memory," he finally supplied when his throat opened up enough to allow him to speak, "He's going to remember it all with perfect clarity, forever."

"We can come back to—"

"He was upset," Reid started, surprising Hotch with the abruptness of it. He watched as Spencer opened his eyes again and stared blankly in front of him, "I've never seen him as angry as he was with me this morning. He—He found out that I went to a bar last night instead of coming straight home. That's what initially set him off. He has a—a temper...sometimes."

"Reid," Aaron automatically brought his other hand up to cup the back of Spencer's neck, "Are you sure you wanna do this right now?"

Spencer gave a small nod, but didn't avert his eyes from the wall. "He said he was just worried about me, that he was protecting me," he frowned, "But then he started accusing me of wanting to sleep with everyone on the team. Morgan and then Rossi..." slowly, hesitantly he turned to look at Aaron, "...um, _you._ He ah, he said some pretty horrible things about me and y-you—all of you. What—What I wanted to do, with you." Quickly, he broke away from Aaron's gaze and turned back to Connie. "Do you need to hear, um, everything he said?" he timidly asked, "Because I can tell you...if, you know, if you need it..."

"No, Dr. Reid," she softly answered, "It's alright. I don't need every detail."

"Oh, okay," he nodded, "That's good..."

He looked like he was on autopilot; like he was just going through the motions as he recounted the events that took place that morning. It kind of felt like he wasn't even mentally in the room with them anymore—like his mind was back inside that house, trapped alone with Parker Simmons.

Aaron didn't know if he could stand to hear everything Reid was about to say, all the details of what went on. Just the fact that Simmons had used the team as catalysts for the confrontation, used them as an excuse to attack Spencer, had his blood boiling and his temper raging. He opened his mouth to say something, but then Reid continued and he didn't want to interrupt him.

"He um, backed me into the kitchen counter and held me there while he yelled about Morgan, then he, I guess, threw me against the cabinets? It hurt my back and made the dishes fall off, things were breaking. He just kept going on about Morgan and what he thought I wanted to do with him, and finally I just couldn't take it anymore and I yelled at him." He stopped, an anxious giggle bubbling out of him, "He—He really didn't like that and the next thing I knew I was on the floor. That's where the cuts on my arms came from. He hit me across the face and I fell on some broken glass..." Reid's brows furrowed as he continued to stare at the wall, his bandaged hand coming up to thoughtfully cup his cheek as his body began to shake, "Th-Then he started going on about Rossi, and I tried to reason with him. I really did. I tried—I told him I only loved _him_ , but he grabbed my wrist and—" he stopped, eyes clamping shut. His free hand gripped onto Spike as tightly as the splint would allow while the other remained firmly attached to Aaron's; and he clenched his teeth, hissing as though he were in instant pain. "God, it just hurt so _much!_ I could—I could feel his nails digging into me and—" he sniffed, opening his eyes back up, "I thought he'd broken it—I couldn't speak through the pain. I couldn't do _anything_ , really. I just...all I could do was scream, s-so that's what I did. I just screamed."

"Spencer, are you alright?" Hotch was getting more than a little worried. The heart monitor was beeping erratically and Reid looked like he was in distress; he was sweating and shivering and his breathing was way too shallow. He didn't respond to Aaron's question right away, which only made him worry more; it was like he was in some kind of trance. "Reid?" he asked again, a little more frantic as his hand moved from Spencer's neck to comb through his hair, "Can you hear me?"

Spencer slowly looked over to him, his bruised and battered face shining with tears, "He—He got so furious when he started to talk about you, Hotch. He accused me of wanting you, said that I'd done things with you, or, _to_ you. I—I don't really know why..." he turned away, then frowned and licked his lips; the heart monitor alarmed. "The, um, the next thing I knew I, I h-hit the wall. I couldn't see—couldn't stand up, the world was spinning. It was odd, I didn't feel like I was actually there, you know? So, I ah, I just fell. Everything was fuzzy and my head hurt and I couldn't see straight. He said—he said you called me." He stopped again, abruptly jerking his head up to meet Aaron's gaze, voice growing manic, "H-He told me you left a voicemail. He got my phone out of my bag and listened to it while I was still asleep. He said you thought I was yours..."

He could feel his own tears drenching his face as he clung to Reid's hand, watching and listening while Spencer recounted every part of his attack from brilliant, crushing memory. But what really broke him was the knowledge that at lease some of what had sparked Simmons' rage was because of him. Because of something _he'd_ done. Spencer had suffered horrifically because he'd called and left that stupid fucking message.

" _You seemed a little upset when you left the bar and I was worried..."_

Dammit!

His guilt grew tenfold as his own voice invaded his mind, hatefully reminding him of exactly what he'd said. He'd mentioned the bar. He'd mentioned Reid _going_ to the bar. Was that how Parker'd discovered that Spencer hadn't gone straight home? Was it because of the voicemail _he'd_ left? Had Spencer been attacked because Aaron's words had solidified some delusion in Simmons' mind that the two of them were involved?

"But I'm not," Reid's voice was monotone as he continued to stare into Aaron's eyes, bringing him out of the spiral he was falling down, "I'm not yours because I'm _his._ That's what I told him. I told him I was his, but..." his lips curved up into a twisted grin that made Aaron's stomach lurch, "He didn't believe me. He said I wasn't _convincing_ enough."

He was gonna be sick.

This was all just too much for him to handle and he pulled his hand away from Spencer's hair to cover his own mouth as he choked down a sob. He could feel his stomach twisting in knots, threatening to wretch as acid rose to the back of his throat. Reid had been brutally assaulted, and it was all his fault. It was all because of him.

"I'm—" his voice cracked with the effort to speak, that sob he'd swallowed clawing its way back up and out of him, "I'm so—so sorry, Spencer."

Spencer didn't react at all for a moment; he just remained silent and fixed on Aaron. When he did finally speak again his words were calm and completely devastating.

"He made sure I knew who I belonged to, though. He made sure I knew I was his. _"_ Reid's eyes fell and he nodded as though someone had asked him a question, "He was all over everything...his hands—they were everywhere, grabbing and scratching and...I couldn't breathe around his, his tongue—" A sob escaped him and he shuddered, crying, "I begged him to stop! I-I told him he didn't have to do it, but it didn't matter. There was more pain—he slammed my head into the wall and told me to shut the fuck up, then..." he turned back to Connie, his voice suddenly eerily calm, "Then, um, that's—that's when he dragged me into the bedroom by my hair. He threw me onto the bed, shoved my head into the pillow so I couldn't scream and raped me without any preparation, lubrication or, um, protection." The heart monitor alarmed again, and Spencer's body began to shake with the sound, "He—He just kept going...and it hurt, _so_ much. He said I hadn't learned my lesson and he wasn't going to stop until he thought that I had. He wouldn't stop until I knew who I belonged to." He laughed, "At some point I guess I convinced him because it ended. It all ended..." he paused, a pensive look crossing his face, "After it was over, I t-told him that I loved him. I knew that's what he wanted to hear, so that's what I said. I said what he wanted to hear, then he k-kissed me, and he was so gentle when he did it...it was so...tender? He told me I needed to stay right there, not to go anywhere. Then he left and I just...I was so, so tired so I just went to sleep."

The room fell silent and Aaron didn't know what to think or say. He was heartbroken by Spencer's words, and at a total loss for how to help him. What he'd gone through was something Aaron would probably never be able to fully comprehend, but he would spend forever trying to help him through it anyway.

He noticed Connie wipe tears from her own eyes, then she awkwardly shuffled the papers in her hands and cleared her throat.

"Dr. Reid, I'm very sorry you had to go through that, but thank you so much for sharing, it took a lot of courage to tell your story." She stood and walked back to the table and the kit, pulling out a small digital camera as she took a deep breath. "Okay. I'm going to take a few pictures of your injuries now if that's alright."

Spencer just gave her another silent nod.

"I'll start with your back, and then you can lie down and relax."

Hotch gripped Reid's hand a little tighter to help him lean forward, and Spencer hissed at the movement. Connie quickly snapped a few pictures of the scratches and bruising along his back and the nape of his neck, then signaled to Aaron that he could help ease him back down to the pillow. When Reid was situated as comfortably as possible he looked up at him with those broken doe eyes.

"Hey," he forced himself to smile, "You doing okay?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Spencer softly responded, "Please...please don't cry. I didn't mean to upset you."

He hadn't even realized he was still crying. He wiped his tears away and then instinctively brought his hand up to swipe a wisp of chestnut hair from Reid's face, his fingers lingering on Spencer's cheek for just a moment, caressing the skin.

"You didn't upset me, Reid," he sighed, "I'm just so sorry that this happened to you, and I'm sorry I had anything to do with it."

"It's not your fault, Hotch."

Spencer stopped talking when Connie came up and took a picture of the cut to his head, closing his eyes to shield them from the flash as she did so. She gently tilted his chin and photographed the dark bruising along his jaw line and neck, and then moved to the abrasions across his arms, and he had to let Spike go so she could get to them all.

For the first time since he'd sat down, Hotch also had to let go of Spencer's hand, and he didn't like it. The severed connection made him feel uneasy, and he fought back a wave of anxiousness that was threatening to take him over; but the moment she was finished with the photos, Reid put his hand out and he immediately took it back into his own. He knew it was irrational, but he felt like if he was in physical contact with Spencer he could keep him safe and protected—a task he'd completely failed to do before now. He smiled slightly when he noticed Reid's other arm circle back around the little stegosaurus, hugging it possessively.

"Are there any more injuries to your upper body?" she asked, and Spencer shook his head as they both watched her move back to the kit and pick up a swab. "Is it alright if I take a sample from your mouth?"

"Alright," Spencer answered, and she swiftly rubbed the q-tip across the inside of his cheek, then placed it in a clear container and picked up a needle, vacutainer and collection tube.

"Now, I just need to draw some blood."

"Okay."

Reid held his arm out and allowed her to stick him, and Aaron tried not to wince at the sight. He hated needles. Thankfully, though, Spencer didn't seem to have an issue with them. He could have thought more deeply on the significance of that, but he chose not to.

Once the blood was collected Connie combed through his hair, small shards of glass falling from his head as she did it. Then she carefully scraped underneath his finger nails, placing those samples and the hair in their own separate baggies. Spencer tensed, squeezing Aaron's hand as she moved to the foot of the gurney and pulled another stool up to sit down.

"Now, this is the worst part, honey. I need to do a rectal exam and collect some samples from inside and around the area. I'm also going to use a colposcope to take a few more pictures. Is all of that okay with you, Dr. Reid?"

"Mhm," Reid nodded quickly and Hotch noticed his breathing begin to pick up again, the heart monitor following suit. His hand tightened around Aaron's, his entire body quivering as his feet were maneuvered into stirrups on either side of the bed. Then his legs were spread open, and that's when he screamed—a panicked and desperate cry, "No no no!" he snapped his knees back together, whimpering as tears streamed down his face, "I-I-I don't know if I can do this! I don't—I just, I-I can't—"

"Hey," Aaron stopped Reid's rambling outburst, gently cupping his cheek and turning his head to look at him— _only_ him, "Spencer, you're alright. I'm right here with you, and you're not alone. Don't think about anything else right now, okay? Just focus on me, just look at me, and just listen to my voice." He tenderly ran fingers through soft hair while glistening hazel eyes stared up at him, scared and hurt and exhausted. His other hand continued to hold on just as tight to Reid's hand as Reid was holding onto him, and he murmured whatever came to his mind, trying his best to keep Spencer's attention on him instead of what was happening around them. "You've got this. You can get through this; and soon it'll all be over and you can get some sleep, okay?"

"O-Okay," Reid hastily nodded and licked his lips, voice still on edge and frantic, "But Aaron—Aaron, please—please don't leave me. Please..."

"Never," he shook his head and forced a smile, wanted to scream _Don't worry, I'll never leave you, I love you, I'll take care of you_ , but, "I promise, Spencer, I won't leave you," came out instead.

"Thank you." Spencer gave him a shaky smile, "I'm, I'm really s-sorry I ruined your weekend off with Jack."

"Jack understands," he lightly chuckled, trying to ease some of the tension in the air, "Don't worry about that. He's fine."

"He's important, though. M-Maybe you should go be with him. I—I sh-shouldn't have asked you to stay. The time you have with him is important—"

Spencer took a sharp inhale and closed his eyes as Connie inserted the speculum, and she apologized profusely through it all.

"He's with Jessica having a blast at the park," Hotch quickly responded, doing his best to ignore the sting of nails digging deep into his hand. He wanted to keep talking, to distract them both from what was happening, "I'm exactly where I need to be right now. And I'm exactly where I _want_ to be, Spencer." He sighed, and let his emotions overtake him as a few more tears slipped from his eyes. He knew it was inappropriate and unprofessional, but he bowed his head and kissed the back of Reid's hand anyway. He didn't really care how it would look; seeing Spencer in so much physical and emotional anguish was just too much and he had to show him how much he cared. Spencer needed to know that someone cared for him who wasn't going to hurt him or lie to him or manipulate him. When he looked back up to Reid's face he thought he saw a flicker of longing there, distant and buried deep within misty eyes, but still there nonetheless. "You're important to me, Spencer, and I'm not going anywhere. There's absolutely no way I'm gonna leave you here to go through any of this alone. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," he gave Aaron the tiniest smile, then his brows drew together in thought as he licked his lips, "Do you, um, do you wanna know why I called you instead of Morgan, o-or 911?"

Aaron just tilted his head and waited for him to continue. Honestly, he hadn't given much thought at all to the reasoning behind Spencer's actions that morning. He hadn't had time. He'd been way too focused on getting to him, making sure he was okay and getting him out of the house and to a hospital.

"I was sitting in a pool of my own blood, surrounded by vomit and shaking through waves of pain, but all I could really think about when I picked up the phone was your voice and how much I wanted to hear it," he stopped and cleared his throat, sniffling, "And I remembered what you said in the bathroom last night. You ah, y-you said that if I ever needed anything you were only one call away. So I just..." his eyes shifted away from Aaron's and feverishly darted around the room before settling on their joined hands. "I guess I just needed you," he whispered, cheeks flushing, "You're the only person I really wanted to see, Aaron."

His heart once again fluttered at the use of his given name. It was the first time he'd heard Reid say it without complete panic laced in his voice, and it sounded exquisite falling from those full, pink lips.

"I'm so glad you called me, Spencer," he assured, continuing to run his fingers through silky locks, "You have no idea how thankful I am that you trusted me enough to ask for help."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They shared one more smile, and then the rest of the exam, for the most part, was done in silence. Aaron remained right there looking down into Spencer's eyes as he caressed his head; but when Connie inserted the camera scope those eyes slammed shut and the hold on Aaron's hand turned absolutely crushing. Reid's features were crumpled in pain and he was frantically panting through clenched teeth as he groaned and trembled.

The heart monitor alarmed once more.

Hotch truly believed the nurse was trying to be gentle, but the look on Spencer's face said otherwise and the fire of protection in Aaron's chest burned bright, making him want to growl at her to ease the fuck up.

"Dr. Reid, I need you to try and relax if you want me to continue," she murmured, her voice as soothing as she could make it.

Reid didn't respond, and Connie looked imploringly at Aaron.

He needed to try to get him calm, so he let his instincts take over and leaned down, cradling Reid's head with his arm as he whispered into his ear, "Shhh, I'm right here, Spencer. You've got this. You're doing so well, and it's almost over. We're almost done. I know it hurts, but just try to breathe through it, okay? Take some slow, deep breaths with me."

"O-Okay," Reid rapidly nodded his head, his eyes still tightly shut as he tried to slow his breathing, "I—I can do this..."

"Of course you can," he smiled without hesitation, "There's no doubt. Just keep going, slow and steady breaths..."

Reid followed his lead, breathing in through his nose and slowly letting the air out through his mouth. After a minute, he opened his eyes and honed in on Aaron, allowing Connie to continue with the procedure.

"Perfect, Spencer," Aaron praised, "You're absolutely perfect. Just focus on me and we'll get through this together."

"Do you promise?"

"Oh yes," his voice quivered, "I promise you, we'll get through all of it together."

Before he could think better of it, he bent down and placed a tender kiss to Reid's forehead, his lips lingering there in that sweet spot as he closed his eyes and carded his fingers through long, messy locks. His other hand remained firmly in Spencer's trembling grasp, and in that moment their connection felt so immensely _right_ that he didn't think he could pull away.

And he wasn't about to try.

.


	10. Coming Home

_I've been struggling a bit with posting this story. It's made me super nervous because Spencer's emotions are kind of all over the place for the next several chapters. He's struggling with his feelings for Hotch and how he believes he should feel after what he's gone through versus how he wants to feel. There will be times where he wants to be close to Aaron and other times where he cringes away. Poor decisions may be made by both men at times because this is a very highly emotional situation and lots of feelings are in play. I'm showing the ups and downs of Spencer's recovery, as realistically as possible, and it won't all be pretty. I'm not glossing over things._

 _However, I can assure you that I love these characters dearly and I'm trying my best to do right by them with this. If you have any questions or concerns about something I'm doing I'd love for you to let me know._

 _Okay, now that that's off my chest, enough of my long A/N. Sorry._

 _Please continue to read with caution and heed the warnings.  
_

* * *

Chapter Ten

Coming Home

.

Once Connie had finished her exam, she packed everything up inside the white box and placed a large red EVIDENCE sticker with his name over the flap to seal it shut. The whole ordeal had taken about three hours from start to finish, and Spencer was definitely feeling every single bit of it. He didn't even want to contemplate how he'd feel if he wasn't still somewhat numb from the anesthesia.

Connie said the doctor would be back in to talk with him shortly and then dismissed herself with a few parting words of encouragement that didn't really make him feel any better. He tried to give her a small smile as she left, but he was fairly certain the attempt fell flat. He was too tired to care though, so he let out a sigh, held tight to Aaron's hand, closed his eyes and waited for whatever came next.

That was essentially what his life was at the moment...an endless string of invasive procedures to endure, embarrassing questions to answer, and waves of throbbing pain to try and breathe through.

Or at least that's how he felt.

Perhaps he was feeling a bit sorry for himself.

He didn't have to wait long for the next hurdle to present itself. Soon after Connie left, a police officer entered the room to take his statement, and he had to relive what had happened to him all over again for the third time. Unfortunately, he knew it wasn't going to be the last time he played everything out in his mind. That was the downside to having his memory, and to filing formal charges against his ex. He was going to have to explain everything that Parker had done to him, in graphic detail, many more times throughout the next several months. Numerous people would need to hear his story; lawyers and judges and juries. There'd be mountains of paperwork to fill out. If the case went to trial then he'd have to, at some point, see the pictures that had just been taken of his body. And he'd have to watch other people examine them as well.

He wasn't looking forward to any of it.

It seemed like such a long, dark road, and he was dreading every moment of the journey. He truly feared he wasn't going to be strong enough to make it through to the other side. Hopelessness was creeping in, slithering around inside his chest and suffocating him, and he was afraid he'd buckle under all the pressure and grief.

Then again, he had something he hadn't expected to have.

He had Hotch by his side.

.

" _Perfect, Spencer. You're absolutely perfect. Just focus on me and we'll get through this together."_

" _Do you promise?"_

" _Oh yes. I promise you, we'll get through all of it together."_

.

He smiled as he remembered Aaron's words and his comforting touch.

He wasn't alone.

The officer finished writing Spencer's statement down in a small note pad and then asked one last thing, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"We may have some additional questions later on, Dr. Reid. Where can we contact you if we need to?"

That was a really good question; and one he didn't have the slightest idea how to answer. He'd thought about it earlier—the fact that he had no place to go when he left the hospital—but other things were more pressing at the time and he'd put the dilemma out of his mind.

Until now.

He was essentially homeless now.

Frowning, he stammered, "I um—I don't really have—"

"He'll be staying with me."

He jerked his head up to where Hotch was now standing by the bed and gave him a disbelieving look. He didn't know if he'd heard correctly. He had no place to go, but he couldn't actually stay with his boss, could he? He definitely couldn't stay with the man he'd had a secret crush on for the last ten years, and since those two people were one and the same he had to find somewhere else to go. Staying with Hotch just wasn't an option.

Right?

"Hotch," he started, shaking his head in protest, "I couldn't impose—"

"This isn't up for discussion, Reid."

There was a sharp and biting finality to Aaron's voice that had Spencer drawing away from the other man as though the words had actually burned him. Hotch gave him a look that left no room for argument, and it made him feel like he'd just been reprimanded, told to quiet down.

Like a child.

Like someone who couldn't make their own decisions.

Like someone who was broken.

Was that what Aaron thought of him? That he was damaged? Was his ability to make his own decisions being ripped away from him now, too? Just like everything else he'd lost today?

Of course, it wasn't like he had a lot of options at the moment anyway. He could barely walk—which left him fully reliant on everyone around him. Whatever he was told to do, he would have to do it. He wouldn't have a choice. Hotch could make him do anything, or do anything _to_ him, and he wouldn't be able to stop it.

"Spencer?"

He flinched when Aaron spoke again, but immediately relaxed a bit at the velvet purr that filled his ears. That voice was no longer harsh and cold, but soft and gentle, and it made him want to lean into the man it belonged to. A mere second ago he'd been worried about what Aaron could do to him and now he wanted to be nearer to him.

He was so confused.

When he looked up, concerned brown eyes were watching him intensely, and they were much closer than he remembered them being before.

"I am so sorry," Hotch softly apologized, leaning down to his level, "I didn't mean for it to sound like you have no say in this, Spencer." A hand came up, and fingers cautiously grazed his cheek before moving to curl around the back of his neck, applying a gentle but calming pressure. "That's not what I wanted at all. I just need to know you're being taken care of and that you won't be alone. If you'd feel more comfortable staying with JJ or Morgan I'm sure they'd be happy to have you."

He couldn't stay with JJ. She had Will and Henry to take care of already, on top of her job. The last thing she needed was another person to take up her time, and he didn't want his godson to see him like this—bruised, in pain, hardly able to walk. He didn't want to scare him.

Morgan wasn't an ideal candidate either. The man liked to be out doing things all the time, whether it was flipping one of his houses or working out or going on dates. He'd also recently gotten heavily involved in the Big Brother program and was spending time with boys who'd lost their fathers. He had important things to do, and he didn't need Spencer throwing a wrench in his plans because he needed a babysitter. Also, Clooney was at Morgan's house, and while for a dog he was okay, they still didn't get along extremely well. That whole Reid Effect was still lingering between the two.

If he were being totally honest with himself, he wasn't exactly opposed to the idea of staying with Hotch. The thought kind of sent a warm and fuzzy feeling straight through him. Seeing his boss, usually so stoic and put together, show so much emotion and concern toward him today was a bit new and odd, but comforting at the same time. The way Aaron had stayed right next to him and held his hand through everything...and the way he'd kissed his forehead, remaining there as a comforting presence, grounding him...it made him feel special. Hotch was making him feel important, and protected.

Cherished, maybe?

Was that even the right word, or was it something more? Something bigger?

Whatever the word was, he liked it. Although, a tiny part of him also felt like Aaron was being slightly overbearing. Controlling, even. Hotch had practically ordered him to stay at his house. Granted, he'd very quickly corrected it, but that didn't erase the fact that it had still happened. Had Aaron been so worried about him that he'd just lost control of his emotions for a moment? Or would that need to control the situation be an ongoing thing between them? He trusted Hotch, he really, truly did; but he didn't know what to make of the man's actions, so he just tried to put it out of his mind, licking his lips and staring up into Aaron's eyes.

"No, it's okay," he timidly replied, cheeks flushing and heart skipping around in his chest, "It's fine. I can um, I can stay with you."

The smile that crossed Aaron's face had him mirroring it before he even knew what he was doing. It was the first real, honest, sincere smile he'd worn in a long time, and it felt sadly foreign to him; but it also felt kind of amazing.

The officer took down Aaron's address and then made his leave, and soon after another nurse came in to take the electrodes off his chest and remove his IV, preparing him for discharge. She gave him a pair of hospital scrubs to go home in since his clothes were taken into evidence, and he managed to put them on while still in the bed. It was rather awkward to do, and Hotch had to hold the blankets up in front of him to shield him from prying eyes, but he hadn't wanted to try and get up to change in the bathroom again. Once that was done, the nurse began going over his home care instructions and he let himself zone out; the information was nothing new to him.

He did, however, notice how Aaron was hanging on her every single word. Hotch was intensely focused on every detail of what she was saying, as though he might be quizzed on the information later. The sight was kind of cute, really, and the attentiveness gave him a warm feeling deep in his chest. He decided to just lay back against the pillow, hugging Spike while he let Hotch handle all the paperwork and his prescriptions. Thankfully, they'd already been filled in the hospital pharmacy and brought to his room. When the nurse was done, he signed a copy of his discharge instructions and slowly began to move toward the edge of the bed.

He stopped in his tracks, internally cringing when a wheelchair was rolled into the room. There was no way he was going to get in that thing and have them push him around like an invalid.

"Hotch," he started, shaking his head as he warily eyed the contraption, "I don't need that..."

"Reid, you could barely walk on your own when I found you this morning; and if it's possible, you look even more tired now."

"Yeah, but—"

"Spencer, come on."

He huffed as Aaron gave him an imploring look. He was right, of course. It had been difficult and extremely painful to walk out of the house, and he would never have been able to do it on his own, but the thought of being wheeled out in a wheelchair just made him feel so _broken_ —but he _wasn't_ broken. He couldn't be. He was hurt, yes, but he could handle it. Besides, he was numb at the moment; he could do this.

"Can I just _try_ to walk out?" He looked from Aaron to the nurse and then back, puppy dog eyes out in full force, "Please?"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Reid," the woman smiled and shook her head, undeterred by his pleading, "But it's hospital policy, so I must insist."

"You don't wanna be a trouble maker, do you?" Hotch gently simpered, "Come on, it's just out to the car. It'll only be a few minutes."

Spencer gave him a glare, but reluctantly acquiesced. After scowling at the chair one last time, he shifted in the bed until his legs were dangling off the side. Hotch was hovering over him, but he didn't look at the man or warn him before he tried to stand. Instead, he just planted his feet firmly on the cold linoleum and pushed off the mattress. Immediately after he was up, though, a sharp, piercing pain shot through his spine, and he felt like he'd been stabbed in the gut. He cried out at the sudden jolt, his vision fading into black spots as his knees buckled. His legs gave way and his feet slid out from under him at the same time that warmth surrounded him. Strong, stable arms wrapped him up in their secure embrace, halting his descent and keeping him from falling to the floor. His breath hitched and he clung to the body holding him, still unable to see through the tremendous pain.

He knew who it was, though. He knew who caught him.

"Shhh, I've got you," Hotch murmured, soft lips against his temple as warm breath and a sweet, comforting voice filled his ear, "You're alright. Just hold onto me, I won't let you fall."

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, tears escaping his eyes as he clutched to Aaron's shoulders, "I'm sorry...I really thought I could—"

"It'll get easier," Aaron assured, still holding him tight, "But you've got to give it time. You need to let yourself heal, like the doctor said. Okay?"

"Y-Yeah, I guess," he nodded, defeat weighing him down as he allowed himself to be directed toward the chair.

Aaron didn't let go of him until he was safely seated; and while the nurse helped maneuver his feet onto the foot plates he watched Hotch turn back to the bed and pick up Spike.

"I'm sure you wouldn't wanna forget this little guy," Hotch smiled, handing him the stegosaurus.

He grinned and quickly took the stuffed animal, admiring Aaron's gorgeous smile and perfect dimples as he did so. Their fingers momentarily brushed together during the transfer, and the connection sent a tiny spark of excitement through him. He didn't quite know what to make of the fact that Hotch was still giving him butterflies despite the events of the day.

He decided not to overthink it and just enjoy it.

When they finally made their way to the SUV the sky was dark. Aaron helped him out of the wheelchair and into the passenger's seat of the vehicle, then thanked the nurse before climbing in the driver's side and turning the ignition. When the dash lit up Spencer looked at the display, noting the time.

It was already 6:30.

They'd been in there for over six hours; although, it'd seemed like so much longer to him. A part of him was grateful that one of the worst days of his life was coming to an end, but another part of him didn't want it to because that would mean he'd have to face tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.

There was no telling what pain a new day could bring.

Today was proof of that.

He was too exhausted to worry much, though; and he was in too much pain. He felt like he'd literally been hit by a truck; and that was a word he didn't use very often—literally—since it was commonly used incorrectly, but it definitely seemed appropriate in that instance. He just needed to rest for a minute or two.

That's all.

That had been his plan, but as Aaron pulled out of the parking lot and he closed his eyes, the vibrations of the car and the hum of the engine had his mind swiftly drifting away, lulling him fast to sleep.

* * *

"How did I get so lucky?"

He looked over to the other man, crystal blue eyes sparkling as they stared deep into his, and he leaned in to kiss him. "I think I'm the lucky one in this relationship, Park," he murmured.

"Oh, just because I'm devilishly good looking?" Parker laughed, bringing his lips down to brush across the shell of his ear, "Or is it because of what I can make your body do, Spence? What pleasures I can pull from you?"

He moaned as a spark of heat filled his belly. "I don't know," he whispered, "Maybe it's a little of both..."

A hand cradled his head as he was pushed down to lie on his back, then teeth and tongue were claiming every inch of skin available on his neck. Lips moved along his jaw to his mouth, and he wantonly opened up, sloppily kissing as the buttons of his shirt were undone and his zipper was pulled down. He arched into the warm, hard body above him, groaning for _more more more_.

"Eager now, aren't you Spence..."

He nodded his head enthusiastically as fingers snaked their way around his neck and held firm but gentle pressure. His pants were pulled down, exposing his aching cock to the cool air, and he gasped as his legs were spread open. There was the sound of another zipper and rustling of clothing, then hard, hot flesh met his own, their shafts rubbing together as Parker rutted against him.

"You want me, baby?" the man purred, lapping at his lips, encouraging them to open to him, "You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes, god..." he was trembling, his body burning for release, "Park, please..."

"What are you gonna give me in return?"

He looked up into his boyfriend's eyes, pupils blown wide with lust and heat radiating down all around him, fueling the fire of want in his body. "Anything," he whined, panting heavily, "You—You can have anything at all, baby."

Parker grinned and bowed his head, closing the distance between them as he purred, low and soft, "Oh my good, good boy...I was so hoping you'd say that."

Immediately, the hand around his neck tightened like a vice, cutting off his airflow completely. He started to panic, thrashing against Parker, struggling desperately to get the man off him. He was suffocating, his head heavy and swimming, his vision blurring. His heart hammered feverishly against his rib cage, a vain attempt to pump oxygen through his body; he frantically scratched and clawed at the hand circling his throat. Fear consumed every part of him as tears cascaded down his face. The only thing he could see were blue eyes laughing down at him.

He didn't know what was happening.

Or why.

He felt his body start to relax even though his mind was still screaming at him to keep fighting—to not give up. He couldn't control his actions anymore. All he could do was lay there, staring helplessly up into those beautiful eyes as darkness crept in around the edges of his vision. He thought heard the echo of a harsh, hateful voice snarling in his ear.

"You never should have let that boss of yours lay a hand on you, Spence," he growled, "You're mine, and I'll make sure no one else ever touches you again."

His vision faded until there was nothing left but blackness, and his entire body went completely numb. It actually felt kind of nice in a way, like he was floating. It was a pleasant feeling, although terror still gripped him because he knew what it all meant.

He was dying.

He didn't know why, but he knew he was about to die.

Parker was killing him.

"I'm gonna be the last thing you ever see or feel, baby."

His legs were pulled further apart and Parker leaned down close. He could faintly smell cinnamon in the air. He didn't feel any pain, but there was an immense pressure down low as the body above him began to move.

A steady rhythm.

He knew what was happening.

He couldn't die like this!

"You asked for this, Spence," Parker hotly whispered, "Aaron's never gonna know what it feels like to be right _here."_ There was a savage thrust, "Deep inside. I'm taking you away from him before he has the chance."

He felt one last tear roll down his cheek, burning his skin in its wake.

"This way, you'll always be mine."

And that was the last thing he sensed, because then he felt nothing at all.

" _Spence."_

"No..."

" _Spencer?"_

"No—no, please don't..."

He was shaking, trying to get away from the hands that were all over him—groping and clawing.

" _Reid?"_

"I'm sorry!" he cried, "Please, Park! Please don't do this! I don't wanna die like this!"

" _Spencer, can you hear me? Please, Reid, just open your eyes!"_

He shook his head and tried again to pull away from the body above him; the man claiming him, suffocating him, killing him.

"SPENCER, WAKE UP!"

His eyes shot wide open and he gasped for air, his lungs burning at the rapid onslaught. The first thing he registered were eyes staring back at him, wide and horrified.

And Brown. They were brown.

But if they were brown then what happened to the blue?

Where was the blue?!

His head jerked around, trying desperately to piece together his surroundings and figure out where he was. He felt himself trembling uncontrollably, he was confused, his mind a jumbled mess. He glanced down to see hands holding tight to his arms, keeping him in place, then looked back up into those brown eyes, watching him closely.

He knew them, leaned into their familiar warmth.

Aaron Hotchner.

He was with Aaron, not the other.

Not the blue.

"A-A-Aaron?" he shuddered at the unexpected sound of his own hysterical voice.

"God, yes," Hotch sighed, his whole body deflating, slumping in relief, "Fuck, Spencer...you scared me half to death."

"I—I'm s-sorry."

He still wasn't sure of his surroundings, still slightly confused and disoriented. He knew it was dark and he was most likely in a car; and he was in pain.

Holy fuck, he was in a lot of pain.

It crashed into him, a throbbing fire coursing through his backside and burning up his spine. His arm pulsed with heat as well, and he looked down to his aching wrist, wrapped in bandages; and that's when everything came flooding back, drowning him in memories that couldn't possibly be real.

The whole day came rushing back.

He remembered Parker and the attack—so much agony, begging, confusion, hate. He remembered calling Hotch and everything that happened at the hospital. Getting into a wheelchair, then a car.

It couldn't possibly be real, but it had been.

All of it.

"What—what happened?"

"You fell asleep on the way home," Aaron answered, voice wavering as a hand ran through his short hair, messing it up, "You were having a nightmare. It took me a while to wake you."

Yeah, he'd been having a nightmare all right; but when he woke up he was still having it. This was all a horrible nightmare.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No," he quickly answered, looking back up to Hotch. That was the last thing he ever wanted to do. He didn't want to talk about Parker and he didn't want to think about Parker and he didn't want to see those horrible eyes. His body shivered at the thought. He just wanted to forget everything. "No, it—it was nothing."

"That didn't look like nothing, Reid," Aaron pressed.

"I don't wanna talk about it, Hotch. Please," he looked at him imploringly, begging him to drop it, "I don't wanna think..."

"Okay." Aaron gave him a sad smile and stood from his crouched position in front of the open passenger's side door, then stretched his hand out, "Let's just get you inside and settled then."

Spencer took hold of the offered support and climbed out of the car, his body protesting with every move he made. He was afraid the numbing medication was wearing off, and he really wasn't looking forward to feeling his injuries in all their agonizing glory. When an arm wrapped gently around him he breathed a little sigh of relief, trusting that if he stumbled Aaron would catch him—he wouldn't let him fall.

The man had proven that several times over already.

They both looked toward the Hotchner residence and slowly made their way up to the front door. He'd only been to Aaron's house a few times in the past, mainly to drop off paperwork. He'd always thought it looked quite nice, though; very domestic and suburban with all the manicured lawns and white picket fences. It was hard to see those details in the evening dark, but he knew they were there. It seemed like the perfect place to raise a family. Maybe that's why Hotch had moved back in after Haley's death; it was a good place for Jack to grow up. Although, Spencer couldn't imagine living in a house where two people he'd known had died, violently.

Jack.

That's when his mind caught up with him, and he suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned back to the SUV, hissing at the quick movement. "Spike!" he blurted, "I—I forgot Spike in the car."

"It's alright," Hotch gave both his shoulders a little squeeze and softly chuckled, "I'll come back out and get him after I get you inside. Okay?"

It was silly, really, but the little stegosaurus had made him feel so much better. He didn't know why, but he was kind of attached to the thing. "Okay. Um, thanks," they started slowly making their way onto the porch as he began to explain, "I, ah, I really appreciate Jack letting me borrow him and I just don't wanna lose him."

He noticed Aaron smile, and couldn't stop himself from admiring those dimples once more. Hotch didn't smile nearly enough, but when he did it was a beautiful look on him. Reid could definitely get used to seeing it.

When they entered the house, Hotch turned the living room light on and threw his keys on the table by the door. Then he disarmed the security system. Spencer took note of the code, _7-16-74_ , Haley's birthday. And for the first time that day he also took note of what Hotch was wearing. Had he been that out of it? He'd been with the man all day, but he'd only just now realized he was wearing jeans and a comfortable shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The fabric was a deep blue color, and well worn. He could probably count on one hand the number of times he'd seen his boss in something other than one of his signature suits.

He had to admit, Aaron looked quite nice in casual clothes and dimples.

"Let me show you to the guest room, then maybe I can whip up something quick for dinner."

He wasn't all that hungry, but he honestly couldn't even remember if he'd eaten anything throughout the day. He gave Hotch a nod and moved further into the house, the warmth of Aaron's hand hovering at the small of his back making him blush ever so slightly. It was intimate without being too much, and he knew if he needed him Aaron would be right there.

When they came to a flight of stairs he stopped, his body frozen in place at the mere thought of having to climb them. He didn't know if he could do it.

"Reid, I'm sorry. I didn't even think..."

He turned to look at Aaron, the man's face wrought with guilt. He shouldn't feel bad about anything; he was already doing so much for him. Reid wasn't exactly sure of what he should say to comfort him, though, considering how daunting the stairs felt at the moment.

"If you don't think you can get up them we can figure something else out," Hotch assured, "We'll find someplace for you to sleep down here where you'll be comfortable."

"No!" he startled, his hand flying up and digging into Aaron's arm, "I—I mean, it's, it's fine. I'm sure I can get up them."

There was no way he could stay by himself on the first floor while Hotch slept upstairs, so far away. What if something happened to him? Or what if someone broke in? There was no way he'd be able to defend himself against an intruder. He had to get up the stairs; it wasn't an option. When he looked back to Aaron the man was staring at him like he thought he was crazy. Releasing his death grip, he tried to speak as calmly as possible, "I'm sure I'll be okay, but um, I might need a little help."

"Of course, Reid. If you're sure."

He just gave him a shaky smile and grabbed onto the banister while Hotch held firmly to his waist, and very slowly and carefully the two ascended the stairs, one painful step at a time. When they finally made it to the second floor landing he let out a relieved huff and leaned against Hotch to catch his breath, the man's arm tightening around him. The journey had been about as awful as he'd expected.

"You alright?"

He met Aaron's gaze and smiled tiredly at him, too winded to speak but proud of himself for actually making it all the way. He frowned a moment later, though, when he realized how sad that truly was. He was happy that he'd managed to go up a single flight of stairs. It was ridiculous.

"I'm okay," he managed to rasp out.

Once he gave the go ahead they started moving again, passing a home office, a bathroom and then Jack's bedroom before coming to another room. One final door sat at the end of the hall, and he imagined that it led to Aaron's bedroom. Something about it felt taboo in his mind, so he tried not to think anymore on it as he let Hotch direct him into the guest room.

The first thing he saw was a queen size bed positioned against one wall, jutting out into the middle of the space. A small table sat at its side, and there was a dresser along the opposite wall. A large bay window with a built in window seat took up much of the outside wall. It took him a moment, but eventually his eyes started to notice other things in the room as well.

 _His_ things.

His things were all over. There was a stack of books sitting on one side of the window seat, along with a blanket Garcia had knit him for Christmas two years prior. His cell phone was on the bedside table charging and there was a large vase full of colorful flowers next to it. Three large _Get Well Soon!_ balloons were attached to the neck of the vase by their strings, keeping them from flying up to the ceiling. A TARDIS, a Dalek, a Cyberman and the Tenth Doctor stood watch on top of the dresser; and the figurines looked to be in some sort of epic, world-in-peril battle scene. Two of his duffle bags sat at the foot of the bed, and from their appearance they were quite full. His black Converse shoes lay next to them.

"I think one of those bags is fully devoted to socks," Hotch joked, his hand coming up to gently squeeze Reid's shoulder.

Spencer leaned into the touch and gave him a little smirk before gingerly walking further into the room, trying to take it all in. He was a little overwhelmed. He hadn't been expecting anything like this. His team had done all of this just for him; and there was a time not too long ago that he'd truly believed they didn't care for him at all. Parker had made him think that they'd just tolerated his presence because they had to.

That wasn't the case, though.

They really were his friends.

"The flowers, balloons and toys are from Garcia. She wanted to do something to help out so she made sure all your stuff got here in one piece," Aaron continued, "Your toiletries should be in the bathroom across the hall, and Rossi said he left some of his fancy coffee in the kitchen."

His ears perked up at that and he turned back to face his boss, "This is all...um...just, I don't—I don't really know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Reid. We're all just happy to be here for you, and help you with whatever you need."

"Thank you." He sat down on the edge of the bed, tears pricking at his eyes as Aaron came to sit next to him. "I'll find a new place soon, I promise. I don't want to put you out or be a bother, Hotch."

"I don't want you to worry about that, okay? That's something that can be dealt with down the road if need be. But for now," Aaron looked around the room, a smile curving his lips, "For now, just think of this place as yours and make it your own. Please. This guest room hardly ever gets used, and it'll be nice to have the company of someone who's older than nine."

Speaking of.

"When does Jack get back?" he asked.

"Jess said she'd bring him home whenever we're ready. We have a little time to get you settled first." Aaron stood back up, "I'll go out to the car and get your bags and Spike. For now we'll put your gun in my safe."

"Okay."

Aaron left and he didn't really know what he was supposed to do. He felt a little awkward just sitting there while his boss waited on him. Then again, there wasn't a whole lot he could do without his body bursting into pain.

Never in a million years would he have thought he'd be sitting in Aaron Hotchner's guest room while the man himself ran out to the car to grab his security-blanket-stuffed-animal. It was kind of humorous, in a sad, pitiful way. His lips curved up at the thought and he almost giggled, but stopped himself just before it bubbled out of him. He wasn't sure why he felt like laughing, there was absolutely nothing funny about what was happening; but so far the present moment was kind of the highlight of his day. Almost anything would have been better than most of his day, though.

The bar wasn't set astoundingly high.

He let out a heavy sigh as he tried to halt the creeping thoughts that were attempting to invade his mind. Thoughts of hands roaming and nails clawing, teeth biting...he didn't want to think about any of that right now, or ever, so he shook his head as though he could somehow make the memories just fall out. He must have lost a bit of time, because the next thing he knew, Hotch was back in the room with the stegosaurus and his bags, along with a glass of water and some pills.

"You looked like you could use something for the pain, and it's time for your antibiotic," he supplied.

"Oh, o-okay," he said in surprise, nervously eyeing the tablets Aaron held in his hands. "Is um, i-is this the ibuprofen?" he asked, taking the offered medication and the water while he waited for an answer.

Although he trusted Hotch, he was always a bit leery about taking pills that he hadn't gotten himself, no matter who gave them to him.

"Yes, Reid," Aaron nodded, watching as he downed both meds at the same time, then added, "I'll go back to his house tomorrow and pick up the rest of your things if you'd like."

Clearly, Hotch didn't want to say _his_ name; but that was okay, Spencer didn't really want to hear it, either.

"Um," he swallowed, "Okay." He still had several things over there; lots of books, his mother's letters, a few keepsakes, the rest of his clothes, his car. "But," he hesitated, looking up to Aaron, unsure of how his request would be received, "I ah, wanna go with you when you do."

Immediately Aaron shook his head, "Reid, I don't think that's a very good idea."

"I need to do this, Hotch." He didn't know why, but he felt like it would be some sort of closure, and he wanted to do it while he knew Parker was still locked up. If he could go into the house where his world shattered and be okay then he'd know he hadn't been shattered as well. He'd know he wasn't broken. "Please, Aaron, can you just give me this? Okay?"

Hotch let out a huff and glared at him for a moment, then sighed in defeat, "Alright. But we'll talk more about it in the morning, and if I feel like it's getting to be too much for you I'm bringing you back home. Deal?"

There was really only one word he zeroed in on from Aaron's answer... _home._

Maybe two.

 _Back home._

He sat up a little straighter, his heart swelling and his stomach fluttering as he watched Aaron watching him. Had Hotch really just called his house Spencer's home?

He liked the sound of it. To be honest, he liked it a lot; a whole lot more than he would have thought.

Smiling, he nodded, "Deal."

.


	11. Ghosts and Echoes

_This is a direct continuation of chapter 10._ _Heed the warnings._

* * *

Chapter Eleven

Ghosts and Echoes

.

They both looked at each other for a moment, just sitting in a comfortable sort of silence while Spencer enjoyed the blissful feeling of being so openly welcomed into Aaron's home. He wasn't used to being accepted and wanted, even after working with the team for so long. Not to mention that the last time he'd felt wanted it had all been a total sham, a perverse lie. So because of that a part of him feared maybe Hotch was only doing all of this for him because no one else wanted to be stuck with the responsibility.

However, that thought only lasted the amount of time it took for him to glance around the room once more. He was surrounded on all sides by tangible evidence, _proof,_ that the rest of the team truly cared about him. They'd taken the time to bring his things to Aaron's house to help him feel more comfortable. And he also knew the only reason he hadn't seen JJ, Morgan, Rossi, Emily or Garcia in person yet was because he had requested it. He hadn't wanted any visitors while he'd been in the hospital, and they were staying away to honor his wishes.

He came out of his thoughts and met Aaron's gaze when the man began speaking again.

"Oh, and I forgot that Garcia brought a casserole over," Hotch paused, his brows drawing together in thought as he sighed, "She brought several casseroles over, actually. I'm not exactly sure how many there are, but she tends to cook when she's worried so there's really no telling. Do you think you might be able to eat something?"

"Um, actually I think I'd ah...I mean, if it's okay, I'd like to take a shower?" He felt dirty, and disgusting, and vile; and he was afraid he smelled...smelled like _him,_ like his breath and his saliva. He could still feel Parker all over him, along with everything the man had left behind, and his skin was starting to crawl because of it. He had to get clean. A shiver ran down his spine as he glanced up at Hotch, "I just—I feel like I need to shower, get clean, you know—um, after everything..."

"Do you think you'll be able to manage that?" Aaron gave him a wary look, hesitating, "I don't want you to hurt yourself."

His brows furrowed. Why would Hotch say something like that? He'd been saying things like that to him all day...

.

" _I need you to try and calm down. You're hurting yourself, Spencer. Do you think you can do that for me? Can you calm down?"_

" _Spencer, calm down. You're getting too worked up and you're gonna hurt yourself. I want you to take a deep breath."_

.

Did Aaron really think he'd actually try to hurt himself? Granted, he felt horrible, for obvious reasons, but he wasn't _suicidal_.

"Spencer?"

"Hotch," he quickly shook his head, coming back to the present, "I would never hurt myself! Why would you even say that?! Do you honestly think I'd—"

"No, no, that's not what I mean," Aaron brought his hands out in front of him in a non-threatening manner; a form of surrender. He looked like he was approaching a skittish animal as he stared at him, "I don't think you'd do anything to harm yourself on purpose; but Spencer, you've gotta know you're not steady on your feet right now. I just don't want you to slip or fall while you're in there."

"I _need_ to shower, Hotch. You don't understand, I have to!"

He was starting to feel that panic rising up in his chest again; his skin itched and his eyes stung. He felt like such a child, begging to be allowed to do the simplest of things. He didn't know what he would do if Hotch told him he couldn't take a shower.

"Hey, it's okay. I know you need to," Aaron soothed, giving him a small, sad smile, "I'm not gonna stop you, I promise. But I could..."

He quirked a brow when Hotch paused, wondering what on earth could be running through his mind.

"...I could, stay with you. Just to make sure you're alright."

He was sure his face immediately turned a shade of beet red because honestly, a part of him wanted exactly what Aaron was offering. He wanted Hotch to be in there with him purely because he felt safe and protected when he was around. But another part of him violently cringed at the thought of being that close to another man while he was naked and vulnerable and _trapped._ There was no way in hell he'd be able to stop him if Hotch tried to do something, he wouldn't stand a chance against the man.

Not that he truly thought Aaron would hurt him. He trusted him, but those thoughts still crept in, like ivy, invading his mind. It had happened at the hospital, too, and he hated the sick feeling it gave him in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't supposed to feel like that when he thought about Hotch. The fact was, he didn't know how he'd feel in any given instant, but right now he knew he wasn't ready to be that exposed and alone with Aaron.

He just couldn't do it.

The irony of the situation was that a mere day before he very well may have jumped at the opportunity to be in a small, enclosed space, naked, with Aaron Hotchner.

"I'll be okay," he assured, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Well, let me at least help you unwrap your arm."

Hotch sat back down next to him on the bed, and he timidly laid his arm on the man's knee, letting him unravel the bandage to expose his wrist. He didn't pull his eyes away from Aaron's face throughout the process, too caught up in the expression the man wore—it was one of quiet concentration and tender adoration, if he was interpreting it correctly.

He thought he was, and a tiny smile met his lips.

Aaron's hands were extremely gentle as they unwound the bandage. He was taking such careful care with every single touch, as though he thought Spencer might break, and Reid was soaking it all up into his memory. He didn't want to forget any part of this moment, ever.

Once the bandage and the splint were removed he forced his gaze away from Aaron's face and looked down to examine his arm. The bruising was much darker than he remembered, and the indentations from the bindings were very pronounced where the fabric had pressed into his swollen skin.

It didn't look pretty.

And it certainly didn't _feel_ pretty.

He wondered what the rest of him looked like, but he had a feeling the answer would be something along the lines of _not pretty_.

"I hate to ask this of you," Aaron cleared his throat and Reid pulled his eyes away from the black and purple and red that was the only thing left of his wrist, "But, would you feel comfortable with at least leaving the bathroom door cracked open a little? Just in case? I'd like to be able to get to you easily if something happens. I can kick the door down, but I'd prefer not to."

"You're really worried about me killing myself in the shower, aren't you?"

It was a genuine question, but he'd laced it with a bit of playfulness. It was actually kind of endearing how worried Aaron was about him.

Hotch smiled, "Only a little."

He gave him a small nod and a tentative smile of his own in answer. He could definitely try to do that for him. It was the least he could do, really; and if it helped Aaron feel more comfortable he'd gladly go along with it.

Once that was settled, Hotch helped him up and they both moved into the bathroom across the hall. He laid out a pair of his sleep pants, a pair of boxers and a t-shirt on one end of the vanity and his toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, and electric razor on the other while Aaron heated up the water. It seemed like the more he moved the more his body acclimated to it and the easier it was to keep moving. It kind of reminded him of a snowball effect. Whether or not he'd regret all this activity in the morning remained to be seen, but he was mainly concerned with the present moment, the here and now.

And right now he absolutely needed to get clean.

"You're shampoo, conditioner and body wash are all in the shower already," Aaron informed, then stepped over to the door, "Just yell if you need anything. I'll heat up one of the casseroles while you're in here. I'd like it if you would try to eat something after you're done."

He still didn't know if he was hungry, or if he could even stomach food, but he gave Hotch one more smile and a small nod, then watched as he left the room, leaving the door open just a sliver.

Once he was alone, he slumped against the vanity and let out a long, heavy sigh as his body relaxed. Trying to be okay was utterly exhausting, physically and emotionally; and having Hotch hovering around him was both endearing and suffocating at the same time. Not because he didn't want him around, he truly did, but because he felt guilty for not being alright. He knew, intellectually, that Hotch wasn't upset with him for being a little messed up given the circumstances, but he still felt bad.

He felt bad because every time Aaron looked at him he could see heartbreak and devastation in the man's face; and there was some sort of longing deep in Aaron's eyes that he couldn't quite place, a want or need to fix the situation, yet at the same time understanding that it couldn't really _be_ fixed.

Something like that, anyway.

Huffing, he turned around and looked up into the mirror. Steam was clouding up the surface and he had to wipe it away to reveal his reflection. Once he'd done it, though, he kind of wished he hadn't.

He looked just like he'd thought he would...not pretty.

He looked about the same way he felt, too; which was horrible.

Pale with dark circles surrounding his eyes. A bruise covered half his face, and a cut marred the other side—the skin held together with tiny pieces of white tape. He tilted his chin and brought his hand up to trace over the finger-shaped marks that spanned his neck, wincing at how tender everything felt to his touch.

He'd really messed up.

How in the world had he let himself get into a situation that ended with him looking like _this?_ How could he let himself become a statistic?

He was just another domestic abuse case.

That title felt like his entire identity now. He wasn't a doctor or a supervisory special agent with the FBI or a son or a godfather. He'd let his boyfriend beat the shit out of him and then rape him; and that made him a victim. But he wasn't supposed to be a victim. Not again. He was supposed to be strong—a protector and a savior—but how in the world could he protect anyone else when he hadn't even been able to protect himself?

He didn't have an answer to that question, so he closed his eyes and tried to calm his frazzled nerves instead. There'd been a hint of something he'd been fighting since he'd woken up in the car earlier, and inkling of a memory echoing at the outskirts of his mind. It had been tugging at him, taunting him, daring him to let it in.

It was persistent, and itchy, and he couldn't drown it out any longer...

. 

" _I guess I'm just gonna have to show you exactly what you are, sweetie," Parker growled in his face, "I'll show you who you fucking belong to..."_

 _Hips rocked roughly against him._

 _Lips crashed into his._

 _A tongue forced its way inside, devouring him._

 _Teeth cut and fingers slithered down his body._

 _Pressure surrounded him, warm and slick and relentless._

 _Jerking, coaxing, working him to sickening hardness._

" _No!" he gasped, his voice scratchy as he tried to scream, "Parker, stop! Please stop! Y-Y-You don't have to do this—"_

 _Pain shot through his head; he couldn't speak through it, couldn't see through it._

" _Shut the fuck up, Spence," Parker snarled, "You brought this on yourself by keeping things from me. You deserve everything I give you, baby. You belong to me, and I'm gonna make damn sure you remember that. And if anyone else ever tries to touch you, I'll kill them."_

. 

He gasped as his mind jolted out of the flashback, leaving his heart racing and his body trembling. He leaned against the sink to steady himself, hands clutching onto the edge. His legs were trying to fail him, shaky and unsure.

He was probably going to fall...

. 

_His body crashed to the floor at Parker's feet; pain coursed through his jaw._

.

"No no no no!" he scrunched his eyes closed and tried to clear his mind.

He didn't realize he'd cried out until Aaron burst through the door and gripped his arms tight. Then he was spun around a little too forcefully, and it made his head swim. When he opened his eyes, they met dark, serious ones—their gaze intensely focused on him. He watched them roam over every inch of his body, examining him from head to toe with laser precision, and he didn't know what to do.

"Spencer, what happened?" Hotch frantically asked, "Are you hurt?"

"No," he shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to hold back his tears as he started to sob, "I'm—I'm sorry...it's just that I, I s-saw _him_ and then I was back _there._ He—He was on me again. Aaron, it was all happening again! I was with h-him and he was...I—I don't...I c-can't..."

The next thing he knew he was pulled into a strong hug, and he automatically wrapped his arms around Aaron's back as he pushed desperately into the warm and safe embrace.

"It's gonna be alright, Spencer," Aaron murmured, and the rumble of the man's chest sent vibrations through his body, "It's okay, I've got you. You're not with him anymore, you're with me, and I'll never let him near you again. Shhh..." He felt fingers run through his hair and he tried to focus on the soothing sensation, "I've got you and it's all gonna be alright."

"When, Aaron?" he whimpered, pulling away just enough to make eye contact, "When's it gonna be alright? When's _anything_ ever gonna be alright again?"

Hotch looked at him, his face drawn with worry and uncertainty. He seemed to be at a loss for how to answer him.

It was a rare and disconcerting sight.

"I don't know," he finally sighed, and Reid merely nodded in agreement.

They were psychological profilers; it's what they did day in and day out. They knew all the case studies and all the published information about the after effects of trauma on victims. Hell, they'd even written some of the books on the subject themselves. But when something like this actually happens to you or someone you're close to all the book knowledge goes flying out the window.

Hotch seemed to be at a loss, yes, but so was he. He had no idea what to expect next. One moment he was bawling his eyes out and the next he was laughing hysterically. One minute he couldn't look anywhere without seeing Parker's face staring back at him and the next he was wondering if Aaron was a good kisser.

It was messed up on so many different levels.

"I don't know, either," he finally murmured, then started to laugh, and Hotch looked at him like he needed a straight jacket and a padded cell.

Maybe he did.

He was beginning to question his sanity.

"It's just funny, I guess," he tried to clarify, "I've never felt as clueless in my entire life as I do right now. It's a strange state to be in, and it's terrifying, and I kind of feel like I have bipolar disorder."

"Well, we'll just be clueless together then," Aaron mumbled, a hand moving to softly wipe away a fallen tear from Reid's cheek, "You're not alone here, Spencer. Like I said earlier, we'll get through this together."

He couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, "I wanted to ask you if you stole that line off a Hallmark card."

They both chuckled a little at that, and the air didn't feel quite so heavy as they leaned in close, heads resting against one another and eyes closed. Aaron's arms held him secure, making sure he didn't fall; and after another minute or so he thought he felt steady enough to actually try and shower.

"I, ah, I think I'll be okay now," he murmured, feeling Aaron's breath hot on his skin.

The man's mouth had to be close to his; he could sense it, there was maybe an inch of air separating them.

So close.

So close that if he just pushed forward the tiniest little bit they'd come in contact...

A shiver ran down his spine at the possibility and he swiftly backed out of the hold, Aaron instantly letting him go. His skin was tingling with something, but he wasn't entirely sure he liked it.

He needed space.

The worried look on Hotch's face didn't go unnoticed by him, though, and he tried to lighten his voice, "My mood has, um, apparently swung in the opposite direction of complete and total despair."

"Okay." Aaron moved through the door, leaving it cracked again as he added, "I'll be listening in case you need anything."

"Thanks, Hotch," he smiled, "That doesn't sound creepy at all."

He opened the door slightly and watched as Aaron walked down the hall, hearing a soft laugh from the man as he headed for the stairs. Once he was sure he was alone, he began to shed the hospital scrubs he'd been given, then carefully stepped into the tub. He couldn't stop the obscene moan that filled the air when hot water ran across his aching muscles, the pressure massaging his body and working with the swirling steam to help him relax. The cuts marring his skin stung a bit at the onslaught, but it was still absolute bliss and completely worth the bit of discomfort. He leaned his forehead against the tile as he let the water wash over him, and his body cried out in relief. He thought he might be able to fall asleep right there, but then he'd surly fall and give Aaron a complete heart attack.

So after a few minutes he made himself start moving, grabbing the body wash and fumbling with the bottle until he managed to squeeze a decent amount onto a loofa that had been hanging from a hook on the wall. It was much more difficult to do one handed than he thought it should be, but he did the best he could and then began to scrub, focusing the majority of his efforts on specific areas he knew Parker still lingered.

He could sense the ghost of the man still nipping at his neck.

" _You're my filthy little minx."_

Clawing at his thighs.

" _If you fucking fight me I'll make it hurt more."_

Entering him.

" _No! I can't do this anymore, please! Please don't!"_

His hands flew up to cover his ears, and he hummed, trying to drown all the echoes out. He knew that it wouldn't work, but he didn't know what else to do and he had to do something. It was unsettling, hearing Parker's voice in his head and feeling those harsh hands, all the phantom touches on his skin playing tricks with his mind.

He decided the best thing he could do was get as clean as possible, so he continued to vigorously scrub everywhere he could until his skin felt raw and tender—then he scrubbed some more. Eventually, though, the water temperature started to cool to an uncomfortable level and he dropped the loofa. He still didn't feel clean, but he knew he'd hit every inch of skin. The feeling had to be psychological.

It was probably psychological.

Trying to block that thought out of his mind, he turned his attention to his hair, opting to just use the shampoo without conditioner to save time and energy. He ended up struggling with that bottle as well until he got enough out to lather into his tangled locks. He focused most his efforts on places he could feel were matted with blood and sweat; and as he massaged his scalp a few tiny, lingering pieces of glass fell out and slipped down the drain.

In the end it wasn't pretty, and he was sure he'd missed some spots, but at least his hair would smell and look relatively clean.

Quickly, he rinsed everything, turned the now cold water off and gingerly stepped out of the tub.

Once he was dry and decently dressed in his pajamas he moved down the hall, noticing a light on in the office. When he approached he softly tapped on the door and Hotch looked up from his desk, then stood and met him at the threshold, looking him over.

"How was the shower?"

"It felt nice, but ah, I kind of used up all the hot water...sorry. And it was a bit difficult to do with only one good hand."

"Yeah, I can tell," Hotch smirked, "You look a bit like a drowned rat."

"Thanks a lot." He tried his best to look hurt, but he couldn't stop the tiny giggle that bubbled up, "I hope I at least _smell_ a little better?"

"That you do," Aaron assured with a nod, a little more serious, "I started dinner. Would you like me to re-wrap that?"

He looked down at his wrist, a bit of the indentations still evident over the swelling and bruises. He wasn't ready to confine it to the tight bandage again just yet. It felt nice to have it open to the air, and much lighter without the heavy splint.

"Maybe after we eat?" he answered, then asked, "What'd Garcia make, anyway?"

"Tater tot something," Hotch shrugged, "She said it was full of potatoes, cheese and meat. That was really all I needed to hear."

"Typical alpha male," he teased, and blushed when his playful reply was met with a dimpled grin.

Aaron took his arm, holding it at the elbow, and gently assisted him down the stairs. The shower had worked to ease his soreness a bit so the journey down was slightly easier than the trek up had been. He hadn't had to focus so much on every single step so he found his eyes wandering to the pictures hanging along the wall as they made their way down. There were several photos of Jack in various poses and ages, probably school pictures if he had to guess, and there were also a few framed cross-stitches.

Aaron must have noticed him looking. "Jessica, she likes to make them," he explained, "She says it's good stress relief. They're pretty much the only things we get from her at Christmas and birthdays."

"I like them." It was homey, and sweet, and it made him smile, "She's pretty good at it."

"Yeah, she is," Hotch fondly agreed, "She's been amazing."

 _Since Haley died and left Jack without a mother_ went unsaid, but Spencer could hear it in Aaron's voice. Instead of saying anything further, he concentrated on the journey down, and when they arrived in the kitchen he could smell the food. Instantly his stomach seized up, and he didn't know if it was because he was hungry or nauseous.

"Go ahead and sit at the table. You don't need to be on your feet."

"Okay, Dad," he tried to joke, and the effort elicited another small smile from Aaron that made his heart flutter.

Cautiously, he moved to the table and took a seat, basking in the warm feel of having someone look after him as he watched Hotch pull a dish out of the oven. It was nice not feeling like he was completely alone. He had no idea how he would have gotten through the day and all of its hurdles if it wasn't for Aaron and the rest of his team. He trembled at the thought of how everything could have ended up—of where he could be right this very moment if he hadn't called Hotch for help.

He very well could still be with _him._

Or, he might not even be alive.

As Aaron sat a plate down in front of him he still didn't know if he was hungry, but he picked up a fork and started moving the food around anyway. He wanted to make Hotch happy, so he'd try to eat something. "Thanks again," he murmured after a moment, "For, you know, pretty much every single thing in my world right now."

"You don't have to thank me, Reid, but you're welcome. I'm just glad you called me."

They ate in a comfortable silence, Spencer picking at the food on his plate more than anything else. He knew he _should_ eat, but making himself actually do it was something entirely different. It was difficult, but he eventually managed to get about a third of the helping down, and that seemed to satisfy Hotch for the time being because the man started to clear the table.

"What can I do to help?" he tried to stand, but a firm hand pressed on his shoulder, keeping him seated.

"Reid, stay put. There's no way you're helping with this. I've got it."

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I just don't wanna be a bother."

"Hey, that's not what you are." Aaron bent down to look him in the eyes, "You, Spencer Reid, are many things," he grinned, "But a bother isn't one of them."

He could feel his cheeks burning again, and he nervously tucked his hair behind his ears as he contemplated the phrase _many things_ , then gave Aaron a shy smile. A moment later, there was a knock on the front door and he startled, almost jumping out of his seat and whimpering as the movement painfully jarred his body.

"It's okay," Hotch quickly assured, his hand finding Spencer's and holding on tight, "It's just Jessica bringing Jack home."

Oh.

Right.

That would make sense.

He gave Hotch another small nod and took a deep breath, not trusting his voice enough to use it in that moment. He was suddenly nervous for an entirely new reason. Jack was about to come walking through the door, and Spencer didn't have the best track record with kids. Henry was the one main exception; and he hadn't had any bad experiences with Jack, per se, he just hadn't spent a whole lot of time with him. For some reason, though, he found himself really wanting the boy to like him. Maybe it was because he was going to be staying in his house for at least a little while, and the thought of living under the same roof as a nine year old who hated him sounded like pure hell.

He turned in his chair and watched as Hotch opened the door and crouched down, a little person wrapping their arms around his neck a second later.

"Hey, Dad!"

"Hey, buddy! How was your day with Aunt Jess?"

Spencer smiled at Aaron's tone of voice. It was a completely different sound to his ears—one filled with joy, excitement, enthusiasm and unbridled love.

"It was great!" the boy exclaimed, "We went to the park and then to McDonald's and I played on the playground until these babies came in and started climbing all over and drooling on everything. Then we went to the library. And then guess what we did!"

"Ummm, you went sky diving?"

"No, silly! We went to see Grandpa."

"Well, that all sounds super fun," Hotch smiled, then ruffled Jack's hair and stood back up to give Jessica a hug and a kiss on the cheek, his voice lower and calmer as he addressed her, "Thank you so much for watching him today."

"Oh, Aaron, it was no problem at all," she whispered, and Spencer tried not to eavesdrop, but he couldn't help it, "How's he doing?"

He heard Aaron let out a long sigh, "He's dealing. It's gonna be rough for a while, but he's strong, and he'll be okay."

Spencer smiled at that. He wasn't called strong very often, and he most certainly didn't feel strong right now, but knowing Hotch believed in him made him want to fight even harder to prove the man right.

"Hey."

He blinked out of his thoughts when he heard a tiny voice speaking to him, and found himself staring into two little brown eyes, brimming with wonder. "Um, h-hey," he warily stammered.

"Wow, that looks _really_ bad," Jack pointed to his arm and Reid looked down at it in all its swollen, purple glory, "Does it hurt a lot?"

"Um, yeah, a little," he answered, nodding as one corner of his mouth quirked up, "But, I think it looks a lot worse than it feels."

Once he'd said it, he didn't know if the statement was altogether true. It hurt pretty damn bad.

"What happened to it?" Jack asked, then looked up and gasped as his eyes widened, "And what happened to your face?!"

Spencer's own eyes darted anxiously over to Aaron as the man closed the front door and locked it, then they moved back to Jack. He had no idea how to answer that question. He knew it was just a child's curiosity, but he couldn't possibly tell him the actual truth. The truth wasn't age appropriate in the slightest.

"Well," he began, clearing his throat and anxiously fidgeting in his seat, "I um, I fell." That was partly true. "And when I fell I landed on my arm and I hit my head."

Without missing a beat, "How did you fall?"

Shoot.

He frowned; he wasn't at all prepared for an interrogation. He couldn't tell Jack that his boyfriend hit him and then threw him into a wall. He didn't want to traumatize the kid. Maybe he should go with the _I'm a clumsy, awkward genius with little to no sense of spacial awareness_ answer. That seemed like a safe enough response, but before he had the chance to get another word out he heard Aaron's voice answer Jack's question for him.

"He was very brave."

His head jerked up to see Hotch enter the dining room and bend down to Jack's level.

The boy turned to look at his dad, then back to Reid for a moment before asking, "He was?"

"Yes," Hotch nodded and took his little hand, "He was very, _very_ brave."

"How," Jack asked, and Spencer honestly kind of wondered the same thing.

"Well, he was fighting a very bad man, and he got hurt," Aaron answered, glancing up to Reid and meeting his eyes as he calmly continued, "He got hurt fighting him, but he won in the end. He was stronger and braver, and he beat the bad man."

He felt tears stinging his eyes as a lump welled up in his chest. Something about the way Hotch was looking at him when he'd said those words, something about the intensity of Aaron's eyes and the warmth of his stare had him wondering if he truly believed what he'd just told his son. Did Aaron really think he was that brave? Because he sure as hell hadn't thought what he'd done that morning could be considered brave or strong in any way.

When he noticed Jack look away from his dad and back to him he tried his best to calm his trembling and hold back the tears that were threatening to fall, giving the boy a small smile instead.

"So, you're like a superhero?"

No, not at all like a superhero.

"Well..." he shook his head, "I wouldn't say that—"

"Yes," Aaron interrupted, giving him that same warm look again. The look that said _I believe in you, I'm proud of you, you're stronger than you think you are_. "He's exactly like a superhero."

Spencer didn't know what to do, think or say to that. Hearing his boss, a man he greatly admired and cared for, talk about him like that felt better than he could ever even begin to describe. He was stunned into silence at the praise, and instead of saying anything he just kind of stared at Hotch for a good minute while the older man stared right back at him. It seemed to him like they were transfixed to one another, lost in a moment together where they were connected in a way that felt important and necessary and absolutely _right._

But then the moment passed and Hotch looked back to Jack, "Spencer's gonna be staying with us while he gets better. Is that okay with you, buddy?"

"Yeah! We can have a slumber party!"

He smiled at the boy's enthusiasm, although his body didn't quite match it. Exhaustion was creeping in on him.

"Maybe someday," Aaron chuckled, "But for now he needs to rest, and so do you. It's late. Go brush your teeth and get ready for bed."

"Okaaaay..." he whined, "But, can Spencer read me a story?"

"I don't think so," Hotch quickly answered, "At least not tonight. Remember, he's not feeling well?"

"Oh yeah," he laughed and smiled at Reid, "I hope you like staying with us. And I really hope you feel better soon, Spencer. If you want, you can keep Spike until you do. He always gives me strength when I'm scared or don't feel very good."

"Thank you, Jack. I really like Spike, and I think he's definitely helping. I'm already starting to feel better," he looked back to Aaron, trying his best to convey the sheer magnitude of thankfulness he felt for everything the man had done for him, then he smiled, "I really do think I'm gonna be okay now."

He said it, and he truly believed it.

.


	12. Denial

Chapter Twelve

Denial

.

Reid opened his eyes and felt his body immediately tense as his mind kicked into high alert. He'd been expecting to see light seeping in through the window to his right, so when he instead noticed a window on his left side he momentarily freaked out, instinctively shooting up in bed and turning to where the window in his room _should_ be. But the very next second he fell back to the mattress with a strangled gasp, writhing as pain pulsed through his body. His eyes clenched shut and tried his best to breathe through the deep, throbbing ache as he listened to all the sounds around him.

He needed to figure out where he was, because he wasn't at home.

There was a squeaky little noise to his left that he couldn't quite place, so when the pain dulled enough for him to open his eyes he turned and saw several balloons floating above him, rubbing together in the air and tethered to a vase filled with cheerful flowers.

There was a blue and orange stegosaurus staring at him with open, glassy eyes.

Right.

It was all coming back to him now, all the memories. Unfortunately he'd had to wait until he'd tried to jettison himself out of the bed to recall where he was and what had happened to him. He was at Hotch's house. He'd called his boss for help after Parker had attacked him. After he'd been assaulted and left alone, bleeding and in agony in the bedroom he shared with his boyfriend.

Or, _used_ to share with his now _ex-_ boyfriend _._ They weren't together anymore, although there hadn't been a formal ending of the relationship.

The break up was just kind of assumed at this point.

He wondered if Park had ever really cared for him at all. Maybe it had all been an act—the nice guy routine, the loving boyfriend—just a way to get what he'd wanted, and Spencer had naively given it to him.

Until yesterday.

He remembered Aaron coming to his rescue, picking him up off the floor of the bedroom, practically carrying him out of the house and taking him to the hospital. He'd spent half the day in the ER being poked and prodded, having tests done and blood drawn.

Evidence had been collected, from him, from his body.

He remembered Hotch being there, staying with him the entire time.

Aaron had held his hand and kept him sane when all he'd wanted to do was drown in sorrow and medication. He hadn't left him alone and in pain like Parker had; instead, he'd stayed right by his side and prevented him from completely breaking down. The way Hotch had looked at him throughout the day had made him feel warm and special and important.

Loved?

It was a crazy notion, but it still gave him butterflies in his stomach.

After he'd been released from the hospital Aaron had brought him back here, and now that he was awake and fully alert his body was feeling every single bit of the day before.

It had all been real; it had actually happened. It wasn't some nightmare he could just wake up from and then have everything be okay. It was his truth, and his new reality—a reality in which he was yet again a victim. It served as more proof of exactly how pathetic and weak he truly was.

And it sucked.

Although, he was currently living in Aaron Hotchner's house, at least for the time being, so there was _that._

A silver lining to all the horror.

He cringed at the very thought. How messed up did it make him that he was a little happy about the current situation he was in?

Shaking his head, he slowly pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the deep, dull ache in his core that came with the movement. He felt like death warmed over. His mouth was dry, his head was pounding and his arm throbbed through the bandages. His throat felt like it'd been scrubbed raw with sandpaper and his neck and back were stiff.

Also, and possibly most importantly, he was starving.

That's when he noticed the smell.

The sweet, rich and unmistakable aroma of brewing coffee wafted into his room, mixing with the scent of sizzling bacon and tempting him into action as his stomach growled and egged him on. He grabbed his cell phone off the table and glanced at the time.

9:14 am.

He'd slept for almost twelve hours. He hadn't done that in...well, maybe he'd never done that. At least not as an adult.

He sat his phone back down and carefully got up, slowly making his way into the bathroom across the hall to relieve himself and brush his teeth. Then he followed the succulent smells right to the top of the stairs, and froze as his heart sank.

Those stairs were the bane of his existence in that moment, a mountain of an obstacle that he didn't know if he'd be able to conquer by himself. He wasn't even sure he should attempt it. One wrong move could send him toppling down, and the last thing he needed was to suffer any more injuries. Aaron had been with him every time he'd had to go up or down them last night, and he'd most definitely required the assistance. But Aaron wasn't with him now, and he needed to get to the first floor. He couldn't let himself be trapped on the landing.

Taking a shaky breath, he gripped firmly to the banister with his left hand and took one step down, gasping at the jolt of pain that shot through his groin and immediately bringing his other arm around to splint his abdomen. He closed his eyes and tried to steady himself, letting the pain roll through him and dissipate before trying to move again.

He could do this.

Gingerly, he took another step down, and breathed through another stabbing twinge of pain, then took another step, and another, and another, until there were no more steps to take. Only then did he realize he'd actually done it. He'd made it to the bottom of the stairs, and he could feel a wide grin creeping across his face at the accomplishment. He was out of breath and hurting and his legs were shaking, but he'd done it. He turned around and looked up to where he'd just come from, pride swelling in his chest, then continued to follow the smells of coffee and breakfast until he reached the kitchen.

Jack was sitting at the table eating and looking at a book while Hotch stood over the stove.

"Hi, Spencer!" the boy looked up at him and gave him a giant grin right before stuffing a fork full of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

Quietly, he raised his hand and gave him a little wave in greeting, then glanced back over to Aaron, who'd turned toward him with an apologetic look on his face.

"Reid, I didn't know you were up yet. I would have helped you down the stairs."

"It's okay," he shrugged, "I seem to have made it here on my own."

"That you did," Hotch softly agreed with a smile, "How'd you sleep?"

"Um, good. I mean, I guess?" He crinkled his nose and laughed, "I think I pretty much passed out the moment my head hit the pillow. I don't even remember trying to fall asleep."

"I'm not surprised," Hotch sighed, "It was a trying day. I'm glad you slept well." He gestured for him to sit at the table, then held up the spatula in his hands and merrily asked, "So, what do ya want? Funny shaped pancakes or bacon and eggs?"

"Oooh!" Jack beamed, holding up a pancake that sort of resembled a star, "He's reeeeally good at making funny shapes! See? You should have some of these."

"Well with an endorsement like that I can hardly say no, can I?" he met Aaron's gaze, "I'll have what Jack's having."

"Funny shapes it is, with a side of eggs." Hotch turned back to the stove and poured some batter into a pan, then glanced over his shoulder toward the counter behind him, "I went ahead and put your antibiotic and iron out, along with another pain pill. How's your arm feeling this morning?"

Spencer brought his attention to the three pills sitting in a little clear cup on the counter next to a glass of water and moved to pick them up. "It's a dull throb at the moment," he answered, then gave it a bit of thought and huffed, "Not unlike the rest of my body, honestly. I'm already tired of the splint..." He quickly downed the medication with a large gulp of water and looked toward the refrigerator, hesitating, "Um, is it okay if I get some milk?"

"Help yourself," Aaron gave him a look that told him he didn't even need to ask, then flipped the pancake in the skillet. When Reid opened the refrigerator he heard Hotch murmur beside him, "This is your home for now, so act like it. And the coffee's fresh."

Something about his answer and the smile on his face made Spencer giddy, and he filled the empty water glass with milk, setting it on the table and going back to prepare a cup of coffee to his liking before taking a seat next to Jack. The boy was quite captivated by his reading material and didn't look at him.

"What book are you reading?"

"It's about dinosaurs," Jack held it up to show him the cover, "I got it at the library yesterday. This one's on the Spinosaurus."

"Oh yeah?" Reid smiled, his mind immediately sifting through everything he'd ever read on the Cretaceous period, "Did you know the Spinosaurus was actually _bigger_ than the Tyrannosaurus Rex _and_ the Giganotosaurus?"

Jack's eyes grew wide as saucers, "Really?"

"Yep, really. It may have been the largest meat eating dinosaur that ever lived. It was also the first dinosaur that was able to swim."

"Wow!" the boy gasped, eyes locked on him in amazement, "How do you know all that?"

"I like to read, too. A lot."

Spencer heard Aaron chuckle at that, and then footsteps were moving closer. "Jack, if you're done with breakfast you should probably get ready to go," he instructed as he placed a plate full of questionable looking pancakes in front of Reid, "Hunter's mom will be here soon to pick you up."

"Okay, Dad." Jack jumped out of his seat, leaving the book on the table and putting his plate in the sink, then turned back to Spencer, "Do you think maybe we can talk about dinosaurs again later?"

"Of course. I think I'd like that," he agreed, then watched as the kid bounced up the stairs to his room. He was only slightly envious of the ability. He was also more than a little surprised by how well he and Jack were getting along. Things between the two were going much better than he'd anticipated, and he was a little sad to hear that Jack was leaving. He turned and looked up at Aaron, "Hunter?"

"Yeah," Hotch sat to his left with his own plate of food, "He's spending the day with one of his friends. I thought he'd enjoy that more than having Jess come over to watch him while we're gone." He took a quick bite, then changed the subject, "I talked to Cruz this morning, explained what was going on."

"Oh god, you—you didn't tell him what, what he did..."

Mortification filled his mind at the thought of Hotch telling their section chief what had happened to him.

"No, Reid," he quickly assured, "I did have to tell him you were attacked, but I didn't tell him by whom. I left out as many details as I could."

"Okay," he breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short lived when Aaron told him the next bit of news.

"But you're on two weeks medical leave, paid."

"Oh..."

He hadn't even thought about work. He didn't like the idea of not being able to go back, but he also realized that in the state he was in he wouldn't be much good to the team, especially if they got called away on a case. He'd never make it out in the field in his current physical condition. He'd barely made it down the stairs.

"Are you alright?" Aaron asked, sympathy in his voice.

"Uh, yeah. I guess I just hadn't thought about not going back," he confided, "Or, maybe I hadn't realized I wouldn't be allowed to."

"It's only two weeks, Spencer."

"No, I—I know," he nodded, trying to ignore the lump in his throat and the tears welling up.

"And you need some time to heal. After that, if you feel up to it you'll have a psych eval and be put back on active duty."

The tears he was fighting began to relentlessly sting his eyes and his stomach twisted up in knots. He also hadn't considered having to undergo a psychological evaluation. Would he even be able to pass one? It didn't seem very likely given his present mental state. Mood swings, flashbacks, nightmares, voices in his head...none of that was particularly _good._

Not that he had to tell the doctor any of that, though; not if he didn't want to.

The idea was intriguing.

He could just say what he knew the doctor wanted to hear, say whatever he had to in order to pass the evaluation. He knew all the correct answers, and it's not like he hadn't done similar things in the past...

.

" _You know that you're mine, and that no one else can touch you, right?"_

 _Parker's voice was growing annoyed and angry again, and he could feel himself trembling at the prospect of enduring another punishment if he didn't answer correctly. He realized exactly what he had to do to protect himself, and bile rose to the back of his throat because of it. He was going to have to play along, pretend that everything was okay and play the part of a loving boyfriend._

 _A broken, submissive partner._

 _If Parker thought that he was under his control, maybe he'd let him rest._

 _Maybe he wouldn't be hurt anymore._

" _Yes," he answered, tears streaming down his face, "I'm...I'm s-sorry, Park. I'll do better, I promise. I—" he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, "I love you."_

.

His breath hitched and he looked down to the floor, trying to empty his mind of the memories that were assaulting him. No, it wouldn't be the first time he'd lied and said whatever he'd had to, even if he knew it wasn't the truth. Thankfully, he could make it look like he was perfectly fine if he really needed to.

That thought had him wondering if perhaps he should be a little more concerned about his current mental condition. He couldn't believe he was even considering cheating the system. It was in place for a reason—to keep everyone safe. It helped to ensure that unstable agents remained out of the field.

"That's assuming I can even pass the evaluation," he grumbled, looking back to his plate.

"Hey now, don't talk like that." He felt a hand come up to rest on his arm, and he glanced over to Aaron. "It's literally been _one_ day, Reid. Cut yourself some slack. You're not gonna be able to rush this, it's just gonna take time."

"How much time?"

"It's hard to say," he sighed, "But we're all here for you."

Aaron's hand lingered on Spencer's arm a moment longer, fingers gently caressing, but careful to avoid the small cuts that littered the area; and Reid's skin hummed from the touch, a soft heat simmering just below the surface and slowly creeping through his body. Much too quickly, though, the hand was gone and Hotch turned back to his food, beginning to eat again as Jack returned to put his shoes on.

"I also talked to Morgan," Aaron added, his voice hushed, "The team wants to help get the rest of your things out today."

"It's their last day off, Hotch," he shook his head, "I don't want them wasting it on me."

"It's not a waste, Reid," he corrected, "And I'm sure they want to see you with their own eyes. You know, make sure you're okay." He looked over to his son then and smiled, his demeanor completely changing, "Are you ready, buddy? I think I just heard Hunter's mom pull into the driveway."

"Yep! I got that new X-Box game he wanted to try out." Jack turned and smiled at Reid; then, without warning, moved closer and wrapped his arms around him, whispering in his ear, "I'll see ya later, Spencer. I really hope you feel better today."

He sat stock still for a moment, stunned at the unexpected and completely unsolicited display of affection. He had no idea what to do, and his arms flailed helplessly at his sides. He figured his eyes had to be wide with something akin to panic because Aaron was standing to the side giving him an _I'm so sorry_ look, but a moment later something totally surprising happened. His once flailing arms moved to circle around Jack's little body and he found himself hugging the boy back before he could stop it. And the most amazing part about it was the fact that it felt so comfortable and easy and absolutely _right._

He didn't think he wanted to let go.

It was an odd feeling, but one that he seemed to like very much, even though it did make his body ache just a little more.

He felt accepted.

"Thanks, Jack," he whispered, still holding on tight, "I'll, um, I'll see you later. Have fun today."

The boy pulled away and gave his dad a hug as well, a bit more vigorous, then ran out the door while Hotch watched from the window, making sure he got into the car safely. It was a pretty nice neighborhood, but ever since Foyet Reid had noticed Aaron being much more vigilant.

Not that he could blame him; he kind of felt the same way now. He was a little nervous to leave a place he knew was safe, a place he was protected, and go back out into the world. Part of him believed he really was crazy for even contemplating going back to Parker's house—a location that was the complete opposite of safe for him.

He knew Park wasn't going to be there, of course, the man was still in jail. Hopefully he would stay there for a while—at least until his arraignment, which would probably be sometime during the week. That knowledge did little to calm his nerves, though, and he startled when Aaron was suddenly right next to him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Reid?"

When he looked up he saw worry plastered across the other man's face. "S-Sorry," he shook himself back to the present, "I guess I zoned out a bit, um, you know, just thinking."

He felt like he was doing that a lot—losing himself in his thoughts.

"It's okay." Hotch gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, then sat back down next to him, "Let's finish breakfast, shower and get ready to go. I'd like to get in and out of that house as quickly as possible."

Spencer almost laughed at that. He really couldn't agree more. He gave him a quick nod, poured some syrup over his oddly shaped pancakes and picked up his fork.

For the first time in a long while, he actually had an appetite.

* * *

When they pulled up to the house, Spencer saw Parker's Civic sitting in the driveway next to his Volvo and his stomach lurched. He could feel himself starting to panic at the mere sight, so he closed his eyes, trying to will his body to calm down before he started noticeably shaking. He knew it was just the car and not an indication that the other man was there, but his fear response was getting the better of him.

Making him act irrationally.

He'd spent the entire drive over nervously looking around, paranoid that they were being followed. It was absurd, but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Parker was out there somewhere, just biding his time, watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. It was frustrating because he knew that wasn't what was actually happening, but his mind didn't seem to care about logic. Just the simple idea that Park could be out there made him feel queasy.

At least until he heard Aaron's voice.

"Reid, are you okay?"

He quickly nodded his head, but kept his eyes tightly shut, taking several deep breaths and clearing his mind as best he could.

"I didn't think this was a good idea," Aaron mumbled, "You don't need to be here. I should take you back—"

"No." He turned toward the driver's side, opened his eyes and stared Hotch down, daring him to argue.

He could do this.

He _had_ to do it.

If he was able to go into that house, the house that held so many painful memories for him, and not completely lose his shit then that would mean he wasn't broken. It would mean that Parker hadn't won—that the man hadn't totally fucking destroyed him. It would be a way to prove to everyone _and_ to himself that he was, indeed, okay.

"I'm fine, Aaron," his voice was unwavering, "This is something I need to do."

He didn't give Hotch any time to protest as he opened the door and jumped out of the car. The hasty action sent sparks of sharp pain thrumming through his body, and he hissed while silently cursing himself for not moving more cautiously. He'd been too focused on showing how mentally okay he was that he'd forgotten how hurt he was physically. Once he'd breathed through the worst of the pain he turned and snatched his messenger bag from the floorboard, rummaging through it until he found his keys.

He never looked up, although he could feel the heat of Aaron's stare on him the entire time.

He heard Hotch sigh and exit the driver's side, then watched out of his periphery as the man made his way around the front of the vehicle toward him. He still refused to look up, though, not wanting to see the disapproving glare he knew was in Aaron's eyes. Luckily, by the time Hotch was at his side Morgan's truck had pulled into the driveway, parking directly behind his car. Reid glanced at the new arrivals, watching with amusement as a blur of neon green, hot pink and fur hopped out of the passenger's side and noisily clunked around to greet them.

"Oh my goodness, come here my baby genius," Garcia softly cooed, putting her arms out for a hug. Right before she actually touched him, though, she stopped, her eyes going wide. "What am I doing?!" she blurted, frowning, "You probably don't want a hug or anything, do you? I should have thought that through better. I'm so sorry!"

"Mama..."

"I mean, obviously it's perfectly understandable to not want to be touched after everything you went throu—"

"Baby Girl," Morgan grabbed her by the shoulders and she stopped her babbling to look back at him.

"It's really okay, Garcia," Spencer supplied.

Oddly enough, he wasn't bothered by Hotch or Jack hugging him so he figured he'd be fine with the others as well. He trusted them. They were his team, and his friends, and his family. They were the only family he had, really, aside from his mother.

Penelope gave him a bright yet subdued smile and hesitantly brought her hand up to tuck a rogue piece of hair behind his ear, then ghosted her fingers over his bruised jaw. "God, I'm so sorry this happened to you, honey," she whispered, pulling him into a hug so gentle that he thought she might be afraid of literally breaking him. "You know we're all here for you whenever you need us, right?"

"I know," he mumbled.

She smelled like oranges and vanilla, and it made him smile as he wrapped his arms around her and laid his cheek on the top of her head. The embrace was soft and warm and he didn't really want to let go. It was rather funny; he'd never been super big on hugs, but he couldn't seem to get enough of them now. A minute later she pulled away, wiping a tear from her cheek as Morgan moved up to stand next to him.

"How you feelin'?" Derek asked, clasping a hand over his shoulder.

"Um, I'm here, I guess."

He felt kind of like he was being examined under a microscope. He was the center of attention, a place that was never very comfortable for him, even on the best of days, and his body shook with nervous energy. They were all just staring at him like he was about to explode, or possibly implode, or maybe do a trick.

"I kinda feel like the main attraction at the freak show," he confessed. It was a poor attempt at humor, and it came off flat with the audience, so he cleared his throat and awkwardly added, "But, you know, I'm um, here..."

"Yeah, I wasn't expecting you to come back here," Morgan agreed, glancing over to Hotch and giving him a look that screamed _why the hell did you let him?_

Reid frowned.

Aaron wasn't his keeper, no matter how many people seemed to think that he was. He was a grown man and he could do what he wanted. He didn't need anyone's permission.

After another few moments of intense glaring between the two other men, Derek looked back to him and clarified, "Not this soon, anyway. Are you sure you're up for this, Pretty Boy?"

.

 _He cried out, but was choked into silence as fingers harshly clamped down around the base of his skull, shoving his face into the bedding. A firm body covered his back, and he couldn't move underneath the weight. When he felt hot, hard flesh slipping along his crack and between his cheeks his stomach seized up and he began to sob into the pillow. Then an icy voice growled in his ear._

" _Don't fight me, Spence. If you fucking fight me I'll make it hurt more. Now just lay there and be a good boy." There was a sickening laugh, "Or better yet baby, be a_ pretty boy _..."_

.

He gasped, scrunching his eyes shut as Parker's voice suddenly filled his head. The man was all over him, and there were hands on him; he flinched away. That voice was absolutely horrible to his ears—hateful yet sweet, harsh yet deceptively soft—and it made his skin crawl. Phantom touches slithered across every inch of his body, and a sharp pain pierced him, thrusting.

It wasn't real. He knew that. It was his mind playing tricks on him again. Something had triggered a memory and he needed to breathe through it.

Just some deep, steady breaths.

That's all.

"I'm s-sorry," he ground out, shivering as he opened his eyes and looked back to his best friend, "I—I didn't mean to freak out. It's just that I had a...I had a, um..."

"You had a flashback, Reid." Hotch quickly moved between him and the others, grabbing him by the arms and blocking his view of Morgan. Chocolate eyes looked right through him, voice low and serious, "You had another flashback, just like you did last night. I really don't think you should be here right now."

He met Aaron's gaze, then glanced over the man's shoulder to Morgan and Garcia. There was so much pity staring back at him, and it infuriated him.

He hated it!

He didn't want to be pitied. He didn't want to be coddled or babied or wrapped in bubble wrap. He wasn't going to break! He just wanted everything to be the way it was before. He was fine, and he was going to prove it. Then maybe everyone would stop looking at him like he was going to shatter at any moment. Bringing his eyes firmly back to Aaron's, he opened his mouth to argue, but stopped when another black SUV pulled up to the curb.

The remaining three members of the team stepped out shortly after.

"We come bearing coffee," Emily chirped as she walked toward them carrying a to-go tray full of steaming cups.

Rossi and JJ followed close behind.

"You look like hell, Kiddo," Dave murmured, stepping up to Reid and Hotch while Garcia and Morgan moved to help Prentiss with the coffee.

Spencer looked down at his clothes. He'd just thrown on some old sweat pants and a baggy shirt after his shower, caring more about comfort over fashion. He saw Aaron give Rossi a death glare, but he tried to ignore it.

He liked that Hotch was being so protective of him, he really did; it made him feel safe. But it also bordered on overbearing, especially right now. He felt like Aaron was on the verge of literally dragging him kicking and screaming away from the house if he had to. And Spencer knew he could do it, too, unless the rest of the team decided to stop him.

Something told him they wouldn't. He had a feeling no one wanted him to go back into Parker's house.

He'd realized the reason Hotch was being so protective of him. It was obvious after spending the last twenty-four hours with the man—Aaron cared for him. He'd always known his boss cared for every member of the team, but this was different.

It was more.

More than merely two colleagues. Possibly more than two friends, even.

Two _good_ friends, maybe.

He turned to Rossi and tried to keep his voice light as he replied, "It's rather fitting that I look like hell then, because I really don't feel much better."

"At least you haven't lost your sense of humor," Dave's eyes sparkled and he gave him a big smile, "No matter how bad it is."

The banter made Spencer feel like things were normal again, like _he_ was normal again, and he gave Rossi a look that he hoped conveyed how thankful he was for it. When Dave sent him a subtle nod in return he knew the message had been received and understood.

"Hey, Reid," Emily stepped up and offered him a cup with his name on it, "It's about 25% coffee and 75% sugar."

"Thanks, Em." He knew she wasn't one for showing emotions very easily and it was obvious she was warring with whether or not she should say anything more meaningful. He wanted to take the stress off, so he just took the cup and smiled, "I'm sure it's perfect."

The last person to approach him was JJ, a nervous twitch to her lips as she stood in front of him, feet tapping back and forth nervously. It looked like she was debating whether or not she should touch him. She was usually the first person to run up and give him a big hug, so it felt odd for her not to be doing it now.

"You know, I'm not gonna break," he assured, giving her a small, shaky grin and moving a little closer. He found himself initiating contact—something he very rarely did—when he brought his hands up and pulled her into a warm and familiar embrace. He hugged her tight, breathing in her familiar, comforting scent. "I'm so glad you're here, JJ," he murmured, tears falling from his eyes.

He didn't care in that moment, because this was JJ and it was okay to cry with JJ.

When she pulled out of the hug a minute later she looked up at him, her lips curving into a full on smile, "It's so good to see you, Spence."

Instantly his breath hitched, his body tensed and everything around him faded away, save for a deceptively sweet voice and icy blue eyes.

"You wanna be mine, Spence?"

A whimper escaped him and he backed up until his back was against something hard; he was trying to catch his breath.

"Just leave everything to me."

" _Spence?"_

"I'll show you what to do."

Those eyes hungrily raked over his body; he felt completely exposed.

" _What is this, Aaron?"_

His hands came up to cover his ears, his eyes closed and he started to hum—trying to make it all stop.

" _Spence?"_

" _JJ, don't call him that. I think it's a trigger."_

"That's it, baby...open up to me...feel me..."

Parker's crooning voice was drowning everything else out; he couldn't ignore it.

He didn't know what was real and what was in his head.

He didn't know where he was.

" _Reid, can you hear me?"_

"Show me you're mine, Spence."

" _Kid, you in there?"_

He heard himself speaking, but he had no control over what he was saying and the words that came out of his mouth mortified him.

"Please, Park," he moaned, "I want you to take me to bed..."

Had he really just said that out loud?

"Good boy..."

" _Reid?"_ Hands were gripping his arms tight, much too tight, pulling his own hands away from his ears, _"Look at me. Open your eyes and look at me."_

Surely he wouldn't have said that out loud...

"Come on, Spencer, open your eyes!"

That voice was familiar.

It was frantic yet calm at the same time.

It was pure velvet—soft and rich and low—and it demanded compliance as it drew him back from the nightmare he'd fallen into. His body longed to obey the command, and so he tried to open his eyes, but it took more effort than he'd anticipated. When he eventually managed to lift them up, he found himself staring directly into Aaron Hotchner's stern, glaring visage.

He blinked several times before he finally registered where he was and who was with him.

"Alright, that's enough!" Hotch snapped, his voice no longer soft like velvet but harsh, commanding and in complete control, "I'm getting you out of here, Reid. It was way too soon for you to try and come back to this fucking house. We're leaving. Now."

"No!" He adamantly shook his head as Aaron started pulling him toward the SUV.

A part of him was terrified that he'd be punished for talking back, even though he knew Hotch would never really hurt him.

Aaron wasn't Parker.

The mere fact that he had to remind himself of that sickened him.

Of course Aaron wasn't fucking Parker!

Aaron was so much more than Parker, so much better; but because the thought that maybe he wasn't had even crossed Spencer's mind he couldn't let Hotch take him back. He had to stay here! He just had to! He was even more determined than before to prove that he could handle all of this.

"Aaron, I have to go in there!" he cried, struggling against the man's hold, "You—You don't...oh god, you don't fucking understand!"

"Dammit, Spencer, stop arguing with me!" Hotch tightened his grip, but stopped pulling on his arm and eased up when Morgan put a hand between them.

"Hotch, man, hold up a minute," Derek looked at Aaron and then over to Spencer, his other hand coming up in a placating manner, "What don't we understand, Reid?"

He glanced around at all the worried faces staring back at him. Garcia and JJ appeared to be on the verge of tears, Rossi was examining him and sending wary glances over to Aaron—the two silently conspiring against him no doubt—and Morgan was looking at him like he was an unstable unsub. The only person not looking at him like he was completely insane was Emily, and that's probably because she wasn't actually looking at him at all.

They didn't understand; none of them understood anything. They didn't get that he _needed_ to do this. He had to prove to himself that he could handle what had happened; that what Parker had done to him didn't own him, it didn't define him.

He wasn't a fucking victim!

He wasn't broken, and he wasn't crazy.

He could control it, fight it, beat it down until it was nothing.

Until Parker Simmons was absolutely nothing to him!

"I'm doing this," he firmly stated, leaving no room for anyone to argue. When Aaron still stubbornly tried to object he narrowed his eyes and glared at him, jerking his arm out of the man's loosened hold. "If you don't want to support me in this then you can just stay out here," his eyes darted around to the rest of the group, "All of you can just stay out here."

At that, he pulled away and started up the drive toward the house on his own, ignoring the pain as his body protested the movement. He heard Hotch mutter something unintelligible and then several pairs of footsteps began to follow him.

Quickly, JJ came up by his side, "Spencer, I am so, so sorry about earlier with the, you know, the name thing..."

"It's okay," he breathed, his anger scattering in the air, "You didn't know. How could you have possibly known that's what he liked to call me?"

"God, I really hate him," she growled. He could see the mama bear side of her coming out, and it almost made him smile, "If I ever see him..."

"You and me both," Emily chimed in as they reached the door, and Garcia hotly added, "Just give me five minutes with the sleazeball."

"I think it's a safe bet that Parker Simmons will be in a world of hurt if he ever runs into any of us in a dark alley," Rossi continued, Morgan growling his agreement while Reid fumbled with the keys in his hands.

If he was honest with himself he felt much more nervous about going inside than he was letting on. He wanted to prove to everyone that he was okay, but a big part of him feared that he really, really wasn't.

"Are you absolutely sure about this, Spencer?" Aaron questioned, bringing a hand up to lightly rest on his arm, behind his elbow. It was much softer than before, when he'd tried to drag him away, and it made him a little light-headed. "I want to support you though this, but I also want to make sure you're okay. You're safety and welfare are my only priority right now, and I don't think this is a good idea."

He looked up at his boss, apprehension clear on the man's face; and there was a part of him that wanted to do whatever Hotch told him to just to see that fear leave his gorgeous features. He wanted to see Aaron smile at him, not look at him the way he was right now—terrified that he was going to have a mental break down. Slowly, he lifted his hand and placed it gently to Hotch's chest, feeling the flutter of an anxious heartbeat under his palm.

"If you support me then I'll be okay," he softly countered, his voice muted so it was only between the two of them, " _Please_ , Aaron. Please don't make me do this without you."

Hotch stared him down for a moment longer, then his eyes softened and his other hand came up to cover the one on his chest. "Spencer, if you're here then I'm here," he murmured, voice just as low, "I'm not going anywhere."

There was a brief brush of fingers against his forearm as Hotch backed away, and the sensation left him slightly breathless. He could have sworn his heart literally skipped a beat. That was obviously not what actually happened, but the thought still made him smile as he turned to unlock the door.

When he walked across the threshold and into the living room he was instantly bombarded by sense memories from all the familiar sights, sounds and smells filling the space. The scent of Parker's cologne floated in the air around him...

.

" _You're smell drives me crazy," he murmured, "You know that?"_

" _It does, huh?" Parker simpered, running fingers through his hair and meeting their lips, "I'll have to remember that for future reference."_

" _Yeah?" he quirked a brow and grinned against the man's mouth, his arms coming up to wrap around Parker's neck, "Are you planning on turning me into a sex-crazed maniac?"_

" _Well, that is the best kind..."_

.

The constant hum of the refrigerator sounded extremely loud in the silence; it had always been like that, but he didn't think it'd been that noticeable before...

.

 _Parker slammed the refrigerator door shut, throwing a handful of spaghetti right at Reid's face._

" _No no no..." he shook his head and pulled several sticky noodles out of his hair, glaring at his boyfriend. They were supposed to be making dinner, not making another mess. "You didn't just throw our leftovers at me."_

" _Oh, yeah, I think I did," Parker laughed, blue eyes sparkling with mirth as he ducked to dodge a dish towel Reid chucked right at him. A moment later he was scooping Spencer into his arms and pushing him up against the kitchen wall, kissing him passionately as their bodies began to rock together. When they broke apart they were both panting. "Maybe dinner can wait?" he mumbled with a sharp grin and a seductive lilt, "I can help you work up an appetite."_

 _Spencer instantly pushed forward, heat filling his groin as he nodded his head in ample agreement. "Yes," he moaned, "I think dinner can most definitely wait, for a little while..."_

.

He felt goosebumps blossom over his skin as visions began to invade his mind. What disturbed him the most was the fact that they weren't all unpleasant memories. Some of them even made him smile. He and Park had a lot of good times in this house, before everything changed. That's how the relationship had started after all. Soft touches, whispered little adorations, laughter and late night talks, food fights in the kitchen.

Parker had been the model boyfriend, loving and kind and sweet; at least, that's how he'd started out. He'd changed drastically once Spencer had moved in, growing increasingly possessive and jealous. That's why Reid had stopped spending time with the team outside of work. Parker'd always come up with an excuse for why he couldn't go out with Spencer and the team, and soon those excuses started to include why Reid couldn't go out as well. Park always seemed to have a reason for Spencer to stay home, or a justification for needing to know all of his plans—including where he'd be and who he'd be with at all times. Parker had even insisted on knowing who he'd be sharing hotel rooms with while they were away on cases.

Looking back on everything now allowed him to see all the red flags that he'd just glossed over and ignored before.

Hindsight was 20/20, as they say.

There were so many signs that something was very wrong, but he either hadn't wanted to see them at the time or he'd chosen to dismiss them. He hated to admit it to himself, but it was extremely likely that Parker had conditioned him, at least to an extent. He'd been brainwashed into thinking that things between them were okay and that everything was normal.

He shivered at the revelation.

He knew exactly what a controlling and abusive relationship looked like, and theirs had been textbook.

"Where should we start, Reid?" Prentiss asked, looking around the living room.

"Um..." he tried to focus back on the task at hand, shaking the memories and thoughts away.

He really wasn't sure where to start. It felt a little surreal to be back in this house. He'd lived here, and all his things were still here, but it in no way felt like a home.

It felt more like a tomb.

"Maybe in the kitchen?" he offered, "The, um, coffee pot on the counter's mine, and my mom's china is on the bottom shelf of the pantry." He looked back to the others, "I don't really have a lot of things besides books, the rest of my clothes, and Mom's letters. And, well, my car."

Emily and Garcia quickly moved toward the kitchen with purpose while Morgan and JJ headed for the master bedroom.

"Wait," Reid quickly stopped them, "Um, I kept most of my things in the guest room, actually." When Morgan gave him a confused look he blushed, embarrassed at how pitiful he felt, "Park, he ah, he didn't want me taking up a lot of room in the master, so..."

Pathetic.

The two changed course and disappeared into the spare bedroom, Morgan muttering something along the lines of _that asshole_ , and Reid couldn't help the small chuckle that bubbled out of him as he moved toward the kitchen and dining room.

Rossi and Hotch followed behind him, but kept their distance, giving him a bit of space.

He glanced down at the kitchen floor, noting that the broken dishes he'd fallen into had been swept up.

He wondered who would have cleaned, and why.

He froze when he turned to look in the dining room, his eyes landing on the wall of cracked plaster in front of him. There was a faint pink tint covering the white, and he realized that he was looking at the remnants of his own blood seeping into the paint. The sight had him trembling, and nausea assaulted his stomach as his heart began to race. He could feel himself drifting, his mind pulling—yanking him unwillingly into the past.

Forcing him back to the morning before...

.

" _Are you hot for Hotch now? Or...is he_ Aaron _? I bet you'd drop to your knees for Aaron, wouldn't you baby? Maybe you already have."_

.

He closed his eyes and took a sharp breath, trying to drown out the voice echoing off the walls...

.

" _Have you sucked him off, Spence? Did you take everything he gave you? Did you swallow it all down and beg for more like a good little whore?" He felt Parker's lips brushing against his; the man's voice turned sweet and breathy voice, "Just like you do for me?"_

" _No, Parker please...I swear I haven't done anything!"_

" _No?"_

 _The hold on his wrist vanished, and tightness immediately circled his neck. His scalp burned and he could feel himself being lifted up; but an instant later he was thrown forward, his skull slamming into the wall with a loud, resounding crack that hurt his ears. Sharp, fiery pain engulfed his mind and his legs seemed to vanish right out from under him; he was falling, fast, crashing painfully to the floor._

 _Parker's presence was all over him, surrounding him, trapping him to the spot._

 _All he could smell was a sickening mixture of cinnamon, coffee, and sweat._

.

He shook his head, clenching his fists so tight he could feel nails digging into his palms. The pain was a welcome distraction from the image in his head, and it helped to bring him fully back to the present moment.

As the memory faded away he let out a long, slow, shaky breath of relief. That's all he had to do, just breathe through the flashbacks and wait for them to pass.

He could do that.

He _had_ done that, just now, and he could do it again.

He would keep doing it.

He was fine.

And he was good.

And he was definitely okay.


	13. Acceptance

_Please heed all warnings and read with caution._

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

Acceptance

.

When he opened his eyes he gave one last look to the broken wall, took a deep breath and turned back toward the living room to see Rossi thumbing through one of his own books. He'd bought it when Dave had rejoined the Bureau. He'd wanted to impress the great and powerful Agent David Rossi, founder of the BAU, with his intricate knowledge of the man's work; but when he'd come face to face with him he'd been too nervous to actually speak. For a long while after that things had been a bit awkward between the two, but eventually they'd gotten used to each other. Now, when he looked at Dave he kind of saw the father he'd never really had; the father he'd always wanted. He knew he could go to him if he ever needed anything; a fact that wasn't true of his own dad.

He let his gaze drift from Dave to Hotch, who was standing a few feet away from the older man and staring directly past Spencer at the wall behind him.

The wall he'd just turned away from.

The wall that had broken under the force of his head slamming against it.

Aaron's eyes were fixed on the bloody spot, a look that was part raging anger and part crushing sorrow marring his usually stoic features. He'd been seeing a lot of emotions from his boss this weekend, and what he was seeing right now made him want to run over and cling to him. He wanted to pull Aaron into a fierce hug and assure him that everything was okay now, that he was alright and the nightmare was over.

He wanted to comfort him.

He didn't know why, exactly.

So far Aaron had been the only one doing any comforting; but maybe that _was_ why. Or maybe it was because Hotch looked just a little broken in that moment, kind of like the wall, and he wanted to bring him a bit of peace; especially since he was the sole reason Aaron was in distress to begin with.

Hotch had dropped everything when he'd called. He'd canceled his plans with Jack and turned his entire day, and his life for that matter, upside down to come help him. He'd been the one who'd walked into this house and saved him; the one who'd found him.

The details were all a bit fuzzy, but he knew that much—Hotch had helped him, saved his life—and he had no idea how to express his thankfulness for it all.

He honestly didn't know where he'd be right now if it wasn't for the other man.

Carefully he made his way across the room, dark eyes leaving the wall and meeting his as he hesitantly moved into Hotch's personal space. Aaron's hands were balled into fists, his jaw set and his face a mixture of sadness and anger hiding beneath a crumbling stoic facade. Spencer wasn't exactly sure of what he was doing, but he knew he wanted some kind of physical contact so he brought one hand up to rest precariously on Aaron's side while his other hand curled fingers around a trembling fist. The position felt a little awkward, but he didn't want to pull away, and when Aaron relaxed his hand and thread their fingers together the uneasiness of the moment dissipated. He felt close to Hotch, connected through what had happened to him and what they'd shared; what they'd been forced to endure, together.

It felt like they were bonded.

Aaron had seen him at one of the worst times in his life—one of his most vulnerable moments—and through that experience it seemed like his feelings for the man had grown exponentially. He loved him now more than he ever had before.

He also understood what was most likely causing it, the reason behind his growing emotions.

Transference.

He knew, but he didn't particularly care.

"Are you okay, Aaron?" he asked, looking up and meeting eyes that had softened as he'd come closer.

"Am _I_ okay?" Hotch asked, shaking his head and giving Reid's hand a light squeeze, "Spencer, I'm fine. I should be asking you that question, not the other way around. How are you feeling, being here?"

"I'm alright."

After the way Hotch had reacted outside, he wasn't about to tell him what he'd seen in the dining room. Even though he'd been able to work through it on his own, there was no doubt in his mind that Aaron would make him leave if he knew he'd had another flashback.

"I'm, um, feeling a bit sore and tired," he sighed instead, "The pain, it's coming back."

"I'll go get your pills from the car."

He nodded and let go of Aaron, then gingerly moved over to the couch and sunk down into the cushions. He'd only been up for a few hours, but he was already completely exhausted. His body was certainly feeling the stress of the day, and the outburst he'd had outside probably hadn't helped matters any.

"Take a load off, Kid," Dave merrily commanded, handing over the book he'd been skimming through, "Here, this took me six months to write. It should keep you busy for about five minutes."

"Thanks," he chuckled, taking the offered book and watching as Rossi left to help the others.

At 327 pages, with an average of 250 words per page, it should actually only take him four minutes and eight seconds to read through the entire thing. Although, that was assuming he was in top shape, which he wasn't. Five minutes was probably a more accurate estimate considering his current physical and mental condition.

He was half way through when Aaron returned, handing him a pain pill and a bottle of water, the lid already off. He immediately recognized the tablet as ibuprofen and dutifully took it before trying to get back up to help pack.

He was halted by a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Spencer, you don't need to be up right now," Hotch stressed, "Give the medication some time to kick in before you start moving around again. I'm sure we can manage for a little while on our own. Just lay down and rest. Please."

"Um, okay," he mumbled, "I guess..." He felt a little guilty just sitting there while all his friends were hard at work boxing up _his_ things, but in all honesty he was completely and utterly drained. He didn't know if he had enough energy to be of any use whatsoever, so maybe the best thing for him to do was stay out of the way, at least until he felt better. "But only until the pain eases up," he added.

Aaron gave him a nod, then turned, moving down the hall while he let himself fall onto his side across the couch, using the arm of the sofa as a pillow. The last thing he saw before his eyes closed and sleep pulled him under was Hotch opening the door to the master bedroom and disappearing inside.

* * *

An hour later Reid was still sprawled on the couch, zoning in and out of sleep as he listened to doors opening and footsteps moving around. He'd heard Hotch say something about going to put the last load of boxes in the back of the SUV, and Rossi followed him. A moment later there was a low, breathy chuckle and he felt someone's presence close to him.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and peered up into Morgan's grinning face.

"Well look who decided to wake up," Derek playfully teased.

"Morgan?" he asked, voice groggy.

"Yeah. You done slackin'?"

"Oh you hush, Derek Morgan," Penelope chastised, coming up and slapping him on the arm, "He needs his rest. Besides," she paused and looked down at him like he was one of those baby panda bears she liked to watch on YouTube, "He looks absolutely adorable hugging Rossi's book like a teddy bear."

"Ha ha, guys. You're very funny," he sleepily grumbled, throwing the book onto the coffee table as he moved to sit. It took more effort than he'd like, and his neck was quite stiff from the odd angle he'd fallen asleep in.

"Awww. You know that's just how they show love, Reid," Prentiss gushed, walking up to stand next to Garcia, "And I have to admit, you did look pretty cute."

"Alright, alright." Derek stretched a hand out to Spencer, "Enough teasing. You ready to get outta here?"

He nodded and took the offered assistance, letting Morgan help him to his feet.

"I really didn't mean to fall asleep..."

He'd only planned on resting his eyes for a minute or two. That was it. Just long enough for the ache in his wrist and the throbbing in his backside to subside. But his body had apparently had other plans and he'd been left with little choice in the matter.

"It's no problem, Reid," JJ assured as she also walked up, giving him a soft pat on the back, "I think we got everything that's yours, but it wouldn't hurt for you to do a walk through. Just to make sure. Do you think you're up for that?"

Honestly, all he wanted to do was get out of this house and never look back, but a quick once over would be the smarter thing. He hated the thought of having to come back here again if something important was forgotten. So, after a moment of contemplation he looked to JJ and gave her a nod, then moved toward the kitchen while Morgan and Garcia went out to help tetris all the boxes into Aaron's car.

JJ and Emily stayed with him as he walked through the kitchen and dining room, making sure all the china had been collected, along with his coffee pot and a very large assortment of coffees he'd accumulated over the months. The books from the living room were all gone, and the guest room had been cleared out, except for a dark purple scarf that'd been tied to the back of the closet door.

When he moved past the master bedroom he hesitated. He needed to go in. He hadn't kept a lot of his stuff in the room—he hadn't been allowed to—but there were a few things that belonged to him inside.

Taking a deep breath, he went to open the door but was immediately stopped by Emily's hand on his arm.

"Reid, you don't need to go in there. Hotch took a look around while you were sleeping. Said he got anything that looked like it was yours."

He felt himself sigh in relief at the news, his body shaking, then gave her an anxious smile. He hadn't been looking forward to seeing the inside of that room again. He'd seen enough of it to last a lifetime already, probably longer, and he was grateful that he didn't have to see it again. Aaron had done that for him, given him that gift, that small mercy.

It was just another way Aaron was taking care of him.

He poked his head into the guest bathroom and then turned back to the two women hovering like mama bears. Everything in the house appeared to be in order, and he breathed another sigh as they started to make their way toward the front door.

He'd done it.

He'd really done it.

He'd proven to himself and to everyone else that he could come into this house and be okay. He could face all the demons and ghosts of his past, the memories of what had been done to him, and beat them down. He'd passed the test, and now, hopefully, everyone would stop looking at him like he was going to crack at any moment.

He wasn't broken, and he wasn't _going_ to break.

When they reached the entrance he opened the door, letting JJ and Emily pass through before him, then shut it and pushed the key into the deadbolt, preparing to lock it for the last time. There was no reason to ever come back here. He was closing the metaphorical door to his past and looking toward the future, leaving Parker and all the pain the man had caused him behind.

That was, until he remembered something he'd forgotten.

Damn.

He couldn't leave without going back and getting it, even if the idea of stepping foot in the house once more turned his stomach. It was just much too important to leave behind. Pulling the key out of the lock, he turned back to his friends, watching as Morgan stepped up to join JJ and Emily.

"Guys, I um, I forgot my NA coin inside. It's my six year medallion, I've got to go back and get it."

"Okay, I'll come with you—"

"No," he stopped Morgan's advance, he didn't need a babysitter. He'd be in and out in a matter of minutes. Less, even. "It'll only take a sec," he assured, "I'll be right back."

Without waiting for a response he reentered the house and made his way toward the back, stopping right in front of the door to the master bedroom. He hadn't stepped foot in there at all today, thanks to Aaron, and there wasn't supposed to be anything of his left inside. The team had pretty much emptied his things out of the room while he'd been in the ER, and then Hotch had come back through today while he'd been resting. His coin was in the dresser, though, and nobody would have known to look for it. He couldn't bring himself to leave it there.

He had to go in and get it.

He could do that.

It was just a room.

The thought of entering that _just a room_ had him queasy, though. He kind of felt like a part of him died in there, behind that door, and it had been an excruciating death to say the least.

Could he handle facing all that again?

Or any of it?

He wanted to say yes, but the way his body trembled made him hesitate—made him second guess his ability to cope.

But only for a moment.

He could do this. He'd proven that he was fine and he could handle being in this house, and the room was merely a part of the house. He could just open the door, walk in, grab the coin and walk right back out.

It would be simple, easy, fast.

So why was he so nervous?

Simple, easy, fast.

It was just another room—not a place where his entire world had been utterly shattered.

Nothing like that.

He wasn't broken.

He could handle this. He just needed to do it and stop thinking about it. Stop fretting over it and over analyzing it.

With that encouragement to fuel him, he steeled his nerves, set his jaw and grabbed hold of the knob, turning it and letting the door swing open with a loud creak.

He swallowed down his trepidation, stepped inside and flipped on the light.

Simple. Easy. Fast.

But then everything stopped, and nothing was simple, easy or fast.

For a split second he was cognizant enough to know with absolute certainty that he'd made a terrible mistake, then the temperature of the room plummeted, his stomach clenched and ice filled his veins.

"Aaron," he whispered, unable to pull his eyes away from the bed, "Please, help me."

The sheets had been stripped off, and red stained the surface of the bare mattress.

His own voice echoed in his head...

.

" _Don't—Don't, please!" he screeched, "No no no no! I-I'm sorry! Parker, I'll do better, please! Please don't do this! Don't_ do _this!"_

" _Don't fight me, Spence. If you fucking fight me I'll make it hurt more."_

 _Fire shot through him and he screamed. He couldn't breathe through the pulsing agony; all he could do was feel as it slithered into every molecule of his being, consuming him until he knew nothing else._

" _You're never gonna forget who owns you after this, Spence." Hot breath warmed his neck, fingers clawed over his skin, and an amused voice hissed in his ear, "I'm gonna fuck you til you can't speak, baby, so you'd better hold on tight."_

 _His hands clenched into the sheets at the warning, then Parker was thrusting into him at a relentless and excruciating pace._

.

He whimpered and stumbled, clutching onto the wall.

He was still here.

Oh god, why was he still here?!

Had he ever even left?!

Had Aaron coming to save him just been a cruel dream? A trick his mind had played on him to protect him from what was really happening?

Or had he hallucinated the whole thing?

He hadn't learned his lesson yet...

.

" _Roll over."_

" _N-No..." he whimpered, shaking his head and crying into the pillow._

 _Instantly he felt an iron grip around his neck, choking him as he was harshly flipped onto his back. A scream tried to rip itself from his throat at the sheer agony that coursed through his body from the forceful movement. It felt like he'd been stabbed in the groin, and white hot pain filled his abdomen and his backside. Tears fell unbidden down his temples, soaking his hair; and when he opened his eyes and saw Parker's face staring down at him, smiling at him, he started to weep._

" _I told you to roll over," the man chided, squeezing his neck a little tighter. He bucked under the pressure, his head heavy and swimming. "You're supposed to do what you're fucking told, Spence."_

" _I-I'm sorry. P-Park please—"_

 _His breath shuddered and he flinched when the hand left his throat and came up to run down his cheek, so tender that he involuntarily leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. If he couldn't see who was on top of him maybe he could pretend it was someone else._

 _Someone kind and loving._

 _Someone good._

 _Maybe he could pretend it was Aaron._

" _I wanted you on your back so I could see this beautiful face," Parker whispered, too close, much too close, "You're so gorgeous, and I just can't get enough, baby. I'm the only one who sees how stunning you are."_

 _He opened his eyes at that and looked back up, listening, unsure of the validity of the words._

" _I'm the only one who knows you, Spence—the real you. I'm the only one who loves you for who you really are. I'm the only one who'll put up with all your weird quirks and habits. All those cute little idiosyncrasies of yours," Parker smiled at him, "No one else would ever stay with someone like you." His legs were abruptly spread apart and he shrieked in agony as Parker thrust back inside him. "Aaron certainly wouldn't stay with you," the man snarled, pulling back and then snapping his hips forward again. His body trembled under the assault. "He'd only use you up and throw you out," Parker growled, "...like trash."_

 _He closed his eyes once more, trying desperately to drown out the words and the pain. He didn't want to hear Parker talk about Aaron. He didn't want to hear Parker talk about anything. That horrible voice sent shock waves through him and he felt sick, choking on bile as it burned his esophagus. Every single push in and out caused sharp, stabbing pain to thrum deep inside him. It was almost too much to bear; something had to be wrong, and he needed help._

 _Why wasn't anyone fucking helping him!?_

" _Park, it—it hurts," he stammered, opening his eyes and begging, "Please, I—I think something's wrong. I need help. Please stop this...please just help me..."_

" _I am helping you," the man cooed, fingers twisting into his hair and yanking at the roots, forcing his head back to expose his neck, "I'm showing you how to behave, Spence. Once you learn that lesson everything'll be fine. I promise."_

 _Parker leaned down and licked up the side of his neck, then met their lips, and Spencer didn't try to protest or turn away from the kiss. He just let him do it. Maybe if he gave in, if he didn't fight, then his pain would end._

 _Maybe._

" _Now, baby," that icy voice sunk heavily into his open mouth, weighing him down, "I really need you to do as I say this time. Okay?"_

 _Terror gripped him and he instantly nodded his head in compliance._

 _"You're gonna behave?"_

 _"Y-Yes. Please, please don't—"_

" _Shhh," Parker purred, smirking as he placed a finger over his mouth, "Perfect."_

 _He felt the man pull almost completely out of him, and he tensed in fearful anticipation of whatever was about to come._

 _"I want you to be my good boy..." nails clawed at his thighs, then that dark voice growled, "Do as I say, Spence. Scream for me."_

 _He saw bolts of white lightening as Parker slammed his hips forward, thrusting back in as deep as he could possibly go. Something ripped inside him, shredding pain shot up his spine, and he quickly did exactly as he'd been told._

.

His vision blurred and he gasped for breath as a pulsing fire swept through his body. The world didn't look right. It spun, tilted, made him dizzy; he thought maybe he was falling, but he wasn't sure. His eyes slowly tracked down the bed to land on the partially cleaned spot of red covering the carpet.

Was it bigger?

It seemed bigger than he remembered...

.

" _You just need to listen to me, I know what's best for you."_

 _Parker's hand came up to stroke his hair, the touch so soft and sweet and tender. It surprised him, and confused him, and scared him—he didn't know what to think or what to believe. He wasn't entirely sure of what had just happened to him, what had been done to him. He didn't know how his boyfriend could be so kind and loving one instant and absolutely terrifying the next._

" _I had to teach you a lesson, Spence. But now you understand what is and isn't acceptable. You know you can't keep things from me, right?"_

 _Spencer stared blankly at him, slowly nodding his head. Keeping things secret wasn't a good idea. He knew that now. He understood it._

" _You know that you're mine, and that no one else can touch you, right?"_

 _He felt his mind slip, pulling him somewhere else, somewhere better, somewhere away. But then there was a hand in front of his face, snapping at him, bringing him back. He jerked away from the sound, hissing at the pain the movement caused his body. He was supposed to say something. Give some kind of an answer; an answer that would make Parker happy. He needed to make his boyfriend happy; that was what was expected of him._

 _Compliance._

" _Right? No one else can touch you."_

" _Yes. I'm...I'm s-sorry, Park. I'll do better, I promise. I—" he sniffled and took a shuddering breath as warm waves of nausea rocked through him, then he forced the words he hated most in all the world out of clenched teeth..._

.

"I love you," he whispered.

He felt himself rocking; or maybe he was being shaken...he couldn't quite tell. He just knew he needed to make sure he said what Parker wanted to hear. That was all that mattered right now.

"I won't do it again," he sobbed, "I—I won't...I won't keep anything from you." He shifted his gaze up from the bloody floor to look into crystal blue eyes, horribly beautiful, "I—I love you, Park."

"I love you too, Spence." There were hands on his face, so gentle, cradling his head, "You just do what I say and everything will be just fine."

" _Reid? Reid, it's Aaron. Can you hear me?"_

"I'll take care of you now," Parker cooed, "I'll make sure you're safe. I'm never gonna let you go, Spencer, and I'll kill anyone who tries to take you from me."

Tears pricked angrily at his eyes, he couldn't stop them from falling. His heart raced and his body trembled under Parker's hands. He was trapped in that icy gaze, unable to look away—or maybe he was too afraid to.

" _Spencer, come on now...don't do this."_

There was a pat on his cheek, and then another, hard enough to sting.

Fingers ran through his hair.

He tried to move away, but he couldn't. He was frozen in place.

"I'll kill Aaron."

"No..." he gasped, bringing his hands up to clutch into Parker's shirt, pleading with him, begging, "Please—Please don't hurt him! I'll be good! I promise, I'll be so good for you, Park. Just, just leave him alone. I'll do anything you want. I'll be good, I'll be good, I'll be good..."

" _Dammit, Spencer, snap out of it! Please!"_

"And then I'll kill you, too..."

"SPENCER!"

His whole body shook, his eyes shot wide open and he cried out in a terrified panic as bright light blinded him. He couldn't catch his breath and his chest felt too heavy, too tight. He was choking on the air around him as he gasped, nails digging deep into the arms holding him still.

"I'm so sorry! Please, just let me go! I'll be good! I'll be your good boy!" he screamed, thrashed, struggled to pull away as he looked up into Parker's eyes.

They were dark brown, and warm, and kind.

He hadn't expected that, and he frowned at the sight. The blue was gone. But if the blue was gone then who was holding him? Where had the blue gone? Park wouldn't just leave; it had to be some sort of a trick, and he couldn't fall for it.

He had to behave.

"I'll—I'll be," he stammered, confusion attacking him, clouding his mind, "I'll be good. I—I promise, Park. I'll be good..."

"Shhh, Spencer stop fighting me. Please, baby, you have to calm down."

The voice speaking to him wasn't Parker's, but it was still clearly a man's, low and smooth with a hint of panicked hysteria filling it out. Large hands, surprisingly soft and careful, pulled him close; and arms wrapped around his back, holding him tightly against a warm, firm chest.

So tight he thought he might shatter from the pressure.

Was that what was happening to him?

Was that why he was so confused?

Was his mind shattering, fracturing, breaking apart?

Had he finally gone mad?

"Aaron, maybe we should call for an ambulance."

"No, Dave." One of those gentle hands came up and cupped the back of his head, and he allowed himself be pulled down, nuzzling his face into that soft, rumbly chest. It felt warm and safe, and he let out the tiniest sob of relief. He could feel and hear a rapid heartbeat thumping in his ear as fingers stroked through his hair. "Just give him a minute to come around. He—" there was a sniff, the voice above him sounded thick and wet with emotion, "He's gonna be fine. He's calming down. It'll be okay now."

There was more rocking, but it felt nice and easy, not harsh. Not frightening. There was no pain involved, and the voice above him wasn't cruel or cold. It was a sweet purr of a noise, comforting and familiar in a totally different way than the sharp-edged tone of Parker's voice. He closed his eyes and let himself lean further into the hold, his breath hitching as his body shuddered through the remnants of lingering sobs.

"You're gonna be okay," the man soothed, "Please, Spencer, show me that you're okay. Come back to me."

He felt something on the top of his head, hot breath and a warm pressure.

A kiss?

Maybe a kiss.

The thought of such a kind gesture made him want for more and he sunk further into the embrace, arms coming up to wrap around the man's waist. He clung to him, desperate to feel the love and warmth radiating off him.

"There you go. Just try to breathe and calm down."

He did as he was asked and took a deep, shaky breath, then another, and another, listening to the voice whisper praises as his body slowly began to still.

Things were starting to come back to him.

Fragments, then more.

He knew who had him now. He knew who was with him, holding him, protecting him.

Aaron.

It was Aaron's voice bringing him back, Aaron's smell surrounding him, Aaron's hands caressing him, Aaron's arms holding him close.

He was pretty sure.

"Aaron?" he softly whispered, needing to be absolutely positive, "Is it r-really you? Are you really h-here?"

"Yeah, baby, it's really me." That pressure was back at the top of his head, heavy and grounding as they continued to gently rock together, "It's Aaron. I'm right here and I've got you."

 _Baby?_

Did Aaron just call him _baby?_

Was that usual?

He didn't think so, but everything was all jumbled up in his head and he wasn't sure. It was a term of endearment, and it sounded very nice falling from Aaron's lips.

But there was someone else who called him that, too; a voice hard and sharp and biting. It was much more likely that Parker had said it, and as that revelation struck him his body tensed back up. He jerked away from the arms holding him, pushing against Hotch and ignoring the pain that shot through his wrist. His eyes darted all around the room—frantically searching for the man with the icy sweet voice, deceptively tender hands and sharp blue eyes.

That's when he realized he was on the floor, leaning up against a wall. The only other people in the room with him were Hotch and Rossi. Aaron was in front of him, sitting on his knees and David was standing by the door with his arms crossed over his chest, an unreadable expression on his face.

By the door that led out of the master bedroom.

He remembered, now. How the hell could he forget? He was in Park's house, in the room they'd shared. He was in the room where everything had happened; where his body had been torn apart, his world right along with it.

He hated this room.

"Wh-Why am I on the floor?" he rasped, throat scratchy and voice hoarse.

"God, Spencer, you had another flashback," Aaron huffed, his tone both relieved and troubled at the same time, "I wasn't sure I'd be able to pull you out of it. Reid, I didn't want you to see this room. Why on earth did you come in here?"

"I—" his voice cracked and he swallowed as he thought back to why, "I had to—to get my NA coin. I'm sorry, Aaron. I forgot it was in here, and I guess I, um, I just thought I could do it by myself..."

A sick, twisted feeling crept into his gut and coiled around his chest, sending shivers down his spine. He was beginning to think that maybe he'd been very wrong about the whole not being broken thing. Maybe Parker really had destroyed him; maybe he truly _was_ broken, shattered, damaged. This had been his test, the test he'd given himself to prove that he was okay and he'd just failed, superbly.

It was laughable, really.

He'd set out to prove that he was fine, but he'd proven something else instead. He'd proven that he was the exact opposite of fine or okay or even coping. He'd proven how totally destroyed he really was, not to mention how completely mentally unstable.

Deep down, he'd already known. Flashbacks, reliving the trauma, nightmares, paranoia...it was blatantly obvious what all that added up to.

He knew what it meant.

And he also knew that Aaron knew.

He wasn't okay.

Not even a little bit.

He didn't know if he would ever be okay again.

"Where's the coin?" Hotch asked, bringing him out of his spiraling thoughts.

"Um," he blinked several times, trying to clear his mind of the haze that still lingered as he concentrated carefully on the question, "It's, it's in the dresser. The top drawer, toward the back."

"I got it."

Rossi moved to the dresser and fished the coin out while he watched in shocked silence, trying to come to terms with his new found and crushing revelation.

He was such an idiot.

He'd truly believed he was okay, but being stuck on the floor of a room covered with his own blood and filled with the echoes of his own screams made him realize he was far from well. He didn't know what he should do next, or even how to go about getting out of the room.

Well, he knew _how_ to get out, logically _;_ all he had to do was stand up and start putting one foot in front of the other, he just didn't know if he was capable of that right now.

What he really wanted to do was curl up in a ball right there and lock himself away in his mind. It felt like he was already half way there, anyway. He was numb and cold. He could hardly feel anything at all, save for a tiny little tingle of an itch right beneath his skin—the remnants of a dangerous desire he'd fought off for so long.

The craving sounded exceptionally sweet to him in that dreadful moment...

.

" _Morgan found two vials of Dilaudid and several syringes in a hidden compartment at the back of the closet, Reid."_

.

He chewed absentmindedly on his lip, wondering if Parker had stashed anything else in the house. He wouldn't know where to look, though, and there was no way in hell Hotch would leave him alone now.

He wouldn't be able to search the room.

He shouldn't even be thinking about that, but his veins were burning, itching, whispering to him. They were begging for just a tiny little bit of relief.

Just a little.

That wouldn't be so bad, right?

Just a little?

How bad could just a little be?

"Reid?"

His eyes met Aaron's and he came fully back into the present moment, a deep pit hollowing out his stomach, gnawing at him as he realized how low his thoughts had actually gone.

He was definitely not alright.

"Can you stand up?" Hotch softly asked, offering his hand.

He nodded, his throat too tight to speak, then took hold of Aaron's hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. Dave offered him the gold coin, and he felt a twinge of guilt about taking it after what he'd just contemplated. He did anyway, although hesitantly, then quickly started heading for the door on shaky legs.

He had to get out.

The house was stifling, and suffocating, and taunting. He could feel the weight of everything bearing down on him, trying to crush him and tempt him. Promises of euphoria and oblivion made his body twitch with need.

He never wanted to come back here again. It had been so stupid to come over here in the first place. He should have listened to Aaron and stayed home.

He'd thought he knew better, though.

Of course.

He was so fucking smart and he'd had it all figured out. He'd foolishly believed he could handle being here.

For a genius he was quite dumb.

He didn't realize he'd made it outside until a cool breeze hit his face, and suddenly he could breathe again. The weight lifted from his chest and he bent over, bracing his hands on his knees as he gulped down the fresh, clean air.

Sweet and light.

Hotch and Rossi caught up to him quickly.

"Can you, ah, lock up?" he asked, although he'd directed the question at no one in particular, instead just throwing the hand holding his keys out for anyone to take.

Dave quickly nodded, "I'm assuming you're not gonna want this back?"

"Not likely," he answered, shaking his head.

Rossi removed the house key from the chain and handed the rest back over, and Reid turned to glance at his car, then down to his injured arm.

"I don't think I can drive with my wrist..." he mumbled.

"I really wasn't planning on letting you try."

Aaron's voice was a bit clipped and hard as he motioned for Morgan to come over, and Spencer had to bite back the urge to flinch away from him. He knew he'd messed up going into that room, and he knew Aaron wasn't happy with him because of it.

When Derek walked up Hotch turned to the Volvo, "He's not driving. Will you take his car to my house?"

"Sure," Morgan answered, shrugging, then frowned as he looked Reid up and down, "You doin' okay, Kid?"

"Yeah, I just—I'm just tired." He tried to shake the anxious feeling away; the feeling that had washed over him at Aaron's agitation. Giving Morgan a half smile, he passed over his car keys and rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand. "Coming back here's been more difficult than I thought it'd be," he confessed, warily eyeing Hotch, "I guess I'm just ready to to be done."

"No arguments there, but, uh, you cool if Garcia drives it? I'd hate to see her try to drive my truck," he looked over to the colorful blonde who was chatting animatedly with JJ and Prentiss by Rossi's car, "Woman is absolutely terrible at driving stick. Don't tell her I said that, though."

"That's fine." He honestly didn't care who took it, he just wanted to leave. "And, ah, my lips are sealed," he added with a forced smile.

They all said their goodbyes, and he thanked everyone for the help, promising to let them know if he needed anything. The girls hugged and fussed over him for a minute longer, then Hotch helped him climb into the SUV. As he snapped his seat belt in place he watched Aaron circle around to the driver's side and get in, but he didn't start the engine. Instead, they both just sat in silence while the rest of the team got in their respective vehicles and drove off, leaving them alone in front of the house.

He didn't look in Aaron's direction, too nervous to risk even the smallest glance, but after a few minutes in the heavy stillness he could sense the man's eyes examining him, hot and probing.

Hotch was obviously waiting for him to say something.

"I'm sorry—" he cleared his throat, heat creeping into his face as he continued to stare straight ahead. He could hear the roar of blood pumping loud in his ears and feel his heart pounding wildly against his rib cage. His fingers ran anxiously along the contours of the medallion he held and his brows drew together, images of what had happened in the bedroom flitting through his mind. "I um, I though I could handle coming back here," he finally mumbled, "That somehow, doing all this would prove that I was okay. That I was fine." The confession stung, and he let out a bitter laugh, "But it didn't work out that way, did it?" Tears filled his eyes, but he tried to keep them at bay as he asked a question he already knew the answer to, "I'm not fine, and I'm not okay. I'm not, am I Hotch?"

"No, Reid, you're not."

He cringed at the harshness that filled Aaron's voice; he was upset with him, maybe even angry. He'd done something he shouldn't have, something Hotch hadn't wanted him to do. He instinctively flinched when he felt a hand brush against the nape of his neck, but it wasn't painful and he quickly relaxed. Fingers began to run through the fine hairs there, tenderly caressing, and the sensation gave him goosebumps. He leaned back into the touch and closed his eyes, letting a heavy tear roll down his cheek as he squeezed the coin tight in his hand.

"You're not okay," Hotch repeated, voice much softer, "But you will be."

He didn't know if he really believed that.

"I, um, I have this feeling that he's out there," he whispered, opening his eyes and finally turning to look at Aaron, "He's out there and he's watching me. I know he's not. Not really, anyway. I know he's still in jail, but I can't shake this uneasy feeling in my gut..."

"You're suffering from PTSD, Reid. What you're feeling is completely normal. You need to give yourself time to heal, physically and mentally."

"What if I don't? What if I don't get better?"

What if this all spiraled out of control and he never recovered?

What if he became like his mother? He was past the usual age of onset, but trauma had been known to trigger psychotic breaks, especially in people with a genetic predisposition for them.

"What if I can't get past this, Aaron? What if—"

"Don't play the what if game. You _will_ get past this." Hotch's hands were cradling either side of his face then, gently but firmly keeping him there, their eyes locked, "I believe in you, Spencer. You're gonna get through this and come out stronger on the other side. And I promise I'll be with you through it all."

"You really think that?"

"No," Aaron sighed, a small smile lighting his face, "I know it."

More tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision to the point where he had to blink, allowing them to stream down his cheeks. He leaned into Aaron's touch, fully aware of how intimate it was but not caring in the slightest. He didn't know what was happening between the two of them, but he did know that he trusted Aaron Hotchner with his life. And knowing that Hotch believed in him was a welcome comfort; it gave him the strength he needed to tell the man what he'd been struggling with.

"In the bedroom, when you—when you brought me back from where I was, w-with him...I—I started to crave," he confessed, the words beginning to pour out of him as fast as his tears, "A lot. I, um, I started craving a lot. I just want to forget everything, Aaron. I don't wanna think about him or see him or feel him—" His body shuddered as the image of Parker crawling over him filled his mind; and he closed his eyes, attempting to will it away. Hotch remained quiet but continued to hold his head in his hands, tenderly stroking his cheeks while he worked to compose himself. "I think, um," he opened his eyes and stared into Aaron's, "I think I might need to go to a movie."

Without hesitation, "Then we'll go to a movie."

"There's one in fifteen minutes at the First Nazarene Church two blocks east."

Hotch gave him an incredulous look.

"I have the schedules for all NA meetings in the area memorized," he supplied, "It's not Clean Cops, but it'll do for today."

"I shouldn't be surprised by that," Aaron smiled, then let go of him and started the car.

As they pulled onto the road he leaned back in his seat, wiping the moisture from his face and looking out the window while Hotch called Morgan to tell him they wouldn't be home right away and to leave the keys in the mailbox.

Just a few minutes later they were parked in front of the church.

"I'll be waiting right here when you're done."

Reid gave him an anxious smile and climbed out of the car, but before he shut the door he turned, nervously chewing on his lip as he looked back inside the SUV. He felt a little queasy at the thought of going in alone, not knowing anyone; which was rather ironic considering the name of the meeting—Narcotics _Anonymous._ But still, he didn't really want to be by himself. Hotch seemed to make him feel more confident and capable, not to mention safe and protected.

Biting his lip, he shyly asked, "You wouldn't, ah, maybe wanna come in with me, would you?"

Relief instantly washed over him when Aaron killed the engine and stepped out of the car, smiling warmly at him, "I would love to, Spencer."

He returned the smile.

.


	14. Worth It

Chapter Fourteen

Worth It

.

"Um, hi."

He raised his hand in an awkward wave as he looked out at the group of strangers sitting in uncomfortable folding chairs and drinking watered down coffee from Styrofoam cups.

They all remained silent, staring back at him expectantly.

The room was so quiet that he was having a difficult time making himself speak; his voice sounded deafening to his ears. He always hated this part about coming to a new meeting location—the part where he was inevitably asked to get up and introduce himself, explain what brought him there and tell everyone what his goals for the future were. He knew he could say no and he wouldn't be pressured to speak, but it seemed counter productive to the process.

Why go to a meeting if he wasn't going to open up and talk about his problems?

What would be the point?

There wouldn't _be_ one, and he desperately needed there to be a point to it all right now. He needed to talk about what he was feeling or he was terrified he'd lose control and end up relapsing. Just the thought of that possibility had him giddy and nauseous at the same time. No matter how wonderful his body told him it would feel to stick a needle in his vein, his mind reminded him that it would only make his situation all the more dire. He didn't need to be fighting through withdrawal symptoms on top of everything else.

So here he was, standing at the front of an unfamiliar room, trying desperately to cling to every ounce of help he could get.

He'd grown so comfortable with all the guys at Clean Cops that he'd forgotten how nerve-wracking a first meeting could really be. To compound matters, he hadn't been to a meeting for a while either, so he was a little out of practice with the whole opening up and sharing his feelings routine. After he'd moved in with Parker the man had stopped encouraging him to attend; which, looking back on it now should have been a glaringly obvious red flag that something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Who in their right mind would encourage a drug addict _not_ to attend NA?

Clearly no one who actually cared for said addict; but maybe someone who wanted to control them. Someone who wanted to have all the power.

He was beginning to realize that Parker'd never truly loved him; he'd used him, and claimed him, and broken him down...but he'd never _loved_ him. Spencer had thought he had, though, and it stung to know that it'd all been a lie.

Even now.

Even after everything the man had done to him, the loss of the relationship still hurt just a little bit. After all, they'd been happy together at one time.

It hadn't all been bad.

Had it?

He really had been so naive...

The moderator, a young man named Jimmy—Jim for short—walked up the two steps to the little stage he was standing on and placed a gentle hand to his shoulder, pulling him from his self-deprecating thoughts.

"Are you alright?"

He glanced at Jim for a moment, then looked back toward the crowd, meeting Aaron's gaze. He could tell his behavior had been concerning by the expression on Hotch's face; the man looked like he was about to jump out of his seat and run up to the podium. It was the same look he'd seen earlier in the bedroom, and he knew what it meant.

Aaron was afraid he'd just had another flashback.

He couldn't blame him for being worried. He probably did look rather confused and lost, and he certainly felt like it. He had no clue how long he'd been standing there just staring off into space.

"Mhm," he nodded, and shot Hotch a small smile in a feeble attempt to ease the man's mind before looking back to Jim, "I'm okay."

The man gave his back a little pat and then moved away while he tried to piece together what he wanted to say. It'd be best to start from the beginning and explain why he'd started using in the first place, and then he'd probably need to go into what had caused him to start craving again. His whole body tensed at the idea of telling all these people what he'd been through, what had been done to him.

This weekend _or_ seven years ago.

He needed to stop thinking about it and just start talking, so his eyes once again met Aaron's, and they remained transfixed to that calming reference point as he introduced himself.

"My name's, ah, Spencer, and I'm a..." he paused, unsure of what to say, "Well, you know, I don't really know what I am right now."

"Hello, Spencer," the whole room greeted in unison, and he instantly flinched, caught off guard by the sudden rise in volume.

"Hi," he laughed, putting his hand up to wave again, trying to mask his obvious jumpiness, "This is my—my first meeting. Well, I mean, it's not my _first_ first meeting, but it is my first meeting here. At this church. I mean, um, obviously..."

This wasn't going very well. He was buzzing with nervous energy and it was all erupting out of him in the form of an anxious ramble.

"Welcome," the group repeated, "Welcome."

He saw Aaron glance around the room at all the heads bobbing up and down, nodding in greeting. It was clear to him that Hotch had never actually been to one of these things, and he grinned a little at the thought that the man cared enough to come along and support him. He was also fighting back a bit of embarrassment, though. He'd tried very hard to keep this side of himself firmly hidden away from the team. He'd never wanted them to know all the messy details; yet here he was, in an NA meeting while he stared right at his boss and prepared to talk about his drug addiction.

"Thanks." He smiled, playing with the medallion that hadn't left his hand since they'd left Parker's house, "Thank you. Um, I guess I—I had a problem...with D-Dilaudid, a while back. Quite a while, actually. Ah, seven years. It's been seven years. I've been clean for the last six."

The group began to applaud and he stopped talking for a moment, taking in the friendly gesture and looking around the room. They definitely knew how to make him feel accepted and welcomed here. Some of the nicest people he'd met had been addicts, though, so he wasn't all that surprised.

Once the clapping died down he swallowed thickly and picked back up where he'd left off.

"I had been hurt, uh, by a suspect." When he noticed a few raised eyebrows he clarified, "I-I work for the FBI, and the guy, um, he took me and he dosed me with Dilaudid for two days. He made sure it never left my system."

A chilling conversation in a cold cemetery echoed in his mind...

.

" _Please don't."_

" _It helps. Don't tell my father, he doesn't know they're here."_

" _Please—I don't want it! I don't want it! Please..."_

" _Trust me, I know."_

.

"He thought he was helping me by keeping me high," he mumbled, brows furrowing, "After it was all over I—I didn't get off it right away..." He made eye contact with Hotch again, tapping into the strength the man always seemed to give him. He found himself relying on Aaron's support more and more. "I thought it was over six years ago, the hardest struggle with my addiction I mean, but recently— _very_ recently—I've been craving again. Someone I thought I...um...someone I thought I loved, they h-hurt me."

He didn't think it was absolutely necessary to go into exactly _how_ he'd been hurt, especially since all the bruises and cuts on his body pretty much screamed _hey look,_ _someone beat the shit out of me_. They didn't need to know every detail of what had been done to him. They were lucky in that respect; he wished he didn't know any of the details.

"I want to move on with my life," he concluded, feeling his emotions begin to bubble out of him, infusing themselves with his final words, "I want to forget about him, and I just want to escape."

At that, his throat closed up and he decided he was done talking, so he backed away from the podium. The group gave him one last round of applause and he smiled shyly, then began to carefully descend the two little steps, taking his time as he put the coin in his pocket.

When the noise quieted, Jim stepped up and asked if anyone else would like to speak.

Quickly, he made his way back to where Hotch was and sat next to him just in time to see a blonde woman in her mid thirties stand and move toward the front of the room.

"You did good up there," Aaron murmured, handing him back the cup of coffee he'd been holding, "I don't know if I could have done that. It took a lot of courage."

Spencer felt his cheeks flush but couldn't help the smile that curved his lips at the high praise. "Thanks," he whispered, their fingers brushing together for just a moment as the cup exchanged hands. The contact sent a spark through him, "It um, it really helped, you know. You being here with me."

"Always, Spencer," Aaron breathed, "I'll be here for you whenever you need me."

* * *

When Hotch turned onto his street he could see Spencer's Volvo sitting in the driveway, and a moment later he heard a low sigh from the passenger's seat. He assumed it was in relief that Garcia had managed to get the car there in one piece and unscathed. He grinned just a little at the thought as he parked next to it.

Glancing at the clock on the dash, he noted the time before killing the engine and pulling the key from the ignition. It was four in the afternoon, and they'd been gone a lot longer than he'd expected.

Several things had happened that he hadn't been expecting; although, he should have been ready for them.

He'd known going back to that house wasn't a good idea, but he hadn't been prepared to hear whimpering coming from the master bedroom when he'd come back in from the car. Nor was he expecting to open the door to find Spencer on the floor, lost in a flashback, hazel eyes fixed on some invisible monster. He hadn't been able to pull him out of it right away, and it had been terrifying to witness.

Then, when Reid opened up to him about wanting to use he'd immediately taken him to an NA meeting.

All that had led to them staying out longer than he'd planned, and his stomach growled when he realized neither one of them had eaten anything since breakfast.

"It's four o'clock," he murmured, looking to his passenger, "We can have a late lunch and then I'll bring all your things in. If you feel up to it you could start unpacking. You know, make the guest room feel a little more like home?"

"Hm?" Reid sat there for another minute, a distant look on his face as he stared out the windshield, then turned to him, "Um, lunch?"

"Yeah, lunch," he answered, studying him closely. It almost seemed like Spencer hadn't heard a word he'd said. "How's it going up there?" he gestured to his head, "You look like you zoned out on me again."

"Oh, sorry no," Reid huffed, "I was just thinking—but, um, it's nothing. Really." He grabbed his messenger bag from the floorboard and opened the door, hissing as he stepped out. Right before he shut the car door he added, "Lunch, uh, lunch sounds good."

It seemed more like a distracted afterthought.

The grimace Spencer wore told Aaron that he was starting to hurt again; or, more accurately, that the pain was worsening. He didn't think Reid had any waking moments where he was completely pain free—either physically or emotionally—and he hated not being able to do much for him. He could help to ensure he took his medication whenever it was time, though, which was right about now.

"Why don't you go on in and get settled," he stated as he exited the vehicle, joining Reid outside. He handed him the keys, "I'll grab your keys from the mailbox and be right behind you."

Spencer gave him a forced smile and headed for the house, his gait guarded and slow as he walked up the driveway. It had been a tumultuous day, to say the least, and Hotch could tell he was feeling the effects of the physical and emotional stress. It couldn't have been easy on Spencer's body to fight against Aaron's hold like he had; and the flashbacks and cravings seemed to have taken their toll as well.

He really should have put his foot down the moment Reid had said anything about wanting to go back into that house. He knew what PTSD looked like and Spencer had all the symptoms in spades. It was stupid and irresponsible of him to allow the younger man to return to the place he'd been brutally attacked, especially so soon after the incident. It had only happened _yesterday._

Yesterday.

It seemed like it'd been so much longer than that.

He'd known it was a horrible idea, but he'd still let him go. He'd given in and let Reid have his way because when Spencer asked him for something he had an extremely difficult time telling him no, even when it would be in his best interests to do so.

Aaron would give him the world if he could.

Once he watched Spencer make it safely inside he turned and walked down to the curb, opening the mailbox. The keys were sitting right where he'd told Morgan to leave them, and he quickly grabbed them and made his way back up to the house. Laying both sets of keys on the console table, he looked toward the living room where Reid was sitting on the couch fumbling with the bandage around his arm, trying to unwrap it. He was struggling to do it with only one hand.

"Here, let me help."

"No, Hotch, it's okay. But, um, can you get me, um..." he paused and looked up at him, "It's just that I think I need another pain pill, but I don't have any water." His eyes fell back down to his wrist and he shook his head, sighing, "But, you know, I can just get it in a minute. Don't worry about it."

"Spencer..." he was at Reid's side a moment later, gently placing his hand on the younger man's, stopping his frustrated attempts to pull at the bandage, "Let me help you. Please."

Reid glanced back up and gave him a small nod, his shoulders slumping a little when Aaron moved his arm over to rest on his lap. As he began working to liberate the wrist from its confines he heard a soft, sad mumble.

"I just didn't wanna bother you, that's all..."

Those words shattered him just a little.

He felt heartbroken that Reid still believed himself to be a burden when Aaron pretty much thought the exact opposite. He wanted to correct him, tell him it wasn't true, tell him he was wanted and needed and welcome; but he also didn't trust his voice to work properly in that moment. So instead of saying anything, he focused all his energy on removing the bandage and the splint.

When the arm was free, he examined it carefully, gently manipulating the wrist to see every angle. Reid didn't say or do anything to stop him, just sat there quietly and let him do what he wanted. The skin was still mottled with dark bruises and cuts, but it didn't look quite as puffy as it had the night before.

Clearing his throat, he tried to speak.

"It, um, looks like the swelling's gone down some."

Spencer's only reply was a hum as he stared down at his wrist.

"And as for you being a bother," he continued, gently tilting Reid's chin back up to look at him, "You're far from it. Spencer, I want you here, and I want to help you in any way that I can. So please, don't worry about asking me for something. Just tell me what you need and let me help you. Alright?"

"O-Okay." He almost melted when Reid gave him a soft, shy smile and whispered, "I'll try."

"Good." He brushed his thumb over the line of Reid's jaw before releasing it, then stood from the couch and picked up the messenger bag off the floor where it'd been discarded. Handing it over, he sighed, "Go ahead and get your pills out. I'll bring you a glass of water and heat up some of the casserole from last night. Does that sound okay?"

"Um, yeah, sure," Spencer took the bag and opened it up, "That's sounds great, Hotch. Thank you."

He smiled and gave him a small nod, then moved toward the kitchen and pulled the leftover potato casserole out of the fridge. He turned on the oven and set the heat, poured a glass of water, and grabbed an antibiotic out of the bottle on the counter before making his way back to the living room. Spencer gratefully took the offered glass and downed the pills, then handed it back over and leaned into the cushions, his brows drawing in obvious discomfort.

"How bad's the pain?"

"Ah, my arm hurts a little, but most of the pain's in, um," there was marked hesitation in Spencer's voice as redness filled his cheeks, "Well, you know, it's in other areas..."

He frowned at that, a heavy weight settling deep in his chest as he thought about Reid's words, or lack thereof. Spencer hadn't really talked about what he'd gone through since they'd left the hospital. Of course, he'd done plenty of talking about it while he'd been there. He'd been forced to recite the entire ordeal twice, and Aaron, for his part, had been forced to listen to it.

Having to watch and listen to Spencer chronicle everything Simmons had done to him, his usually vibrant hazel eyes dull and detached, had been a lot more difficult for him to do than he'd anticipated. He was used to hearing the words, listening to all the atrocities that people had to endure at the hands of others. It was part of taking victims' statements, and it was part of their job.

But this had been markedly different.

This hadn't been an anonymous victim.

It had been personal.

It had been Spencer.

And because of that, it had been devastating to him.

Spencer was the victim, and part of Hotch—a big part—blamed himself for that. If he'd only done something sooner, said something, _anything,_ to Reid about his concerns, then maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe Spencer would have gotten out of the relationship before it had escalated to a level of violence that had left him bleeding and incoherent on the floor of that damn bedroom.

He should have done something sooner.

This was all his fucking fault!

Without warning, a vision of Spencer cowering on the floor that afternoon shot through his mind, hazel eyes scared, confused, and disoriented...

.

" _No..." Spencer gasped, his beautiful hazel eyes wet with tears as he clutched onto Aaron's shirt. He looked absolutely terrified, "Please—Please don't hurt him! I'll be good! I promise, I'll be so good for you, Park. Just, just leave him alone. I'll do anything you want. I'll be good, I'll be good, I'll be good..."_

 _He had no idea who Reid was talking about, who he was begging Parker not to hurt, but it was obvious Spencer was stuck in some past moment that he wasn't coming out of. That thought had dread coiling in his stomach, and he could feel himself starting to panic. He had to get through to him. "Dammit, Spencer, snap out of it!"_

 _Reid's eyes went wide with fear and he trembled in Aaron's arms as he gasped for air. He was hyperventilating, on the verge of passing out if Hotch couldn't calm him down very quickly._

" _SPENCER!" he yelled, grabbing his arms and shaking him just a little too hard, grasping at anything that might bring him back to the present._

" _I'm so sorry!" Reid screeched, nails digging deep into Aaron's arms. He had no idea what else to do, so he did his best to ignore the sharp, stabbing pain and just held Spencer tighter, hugging him safely against his chest as frightened pleas continued to fill the room, "Please, just let me go! I'll be good! I'll be your good boy!" Spencer's screams abruptly quieted when he looked up at him, a confused expression flitting across his face as his eyes darted wildly between Aaron's. "I'll be good," he stammered, "I—I promise, Park. I'll be good..."_

" _Shhh, Spencer stop fighting me," he was trying not to let his own panic consume him, but seeing Reid like this made him physically ill. He wanted to shout back how much he loved him and that everything was going to be alright—that he was going to help him and take care of him. That's what he wanted to do, but instead, he reined in those urges as much as he could. This was neither the time nor place for any declarations of love, and Spencer wouldn't be able to understand them right now anyway. "Please, baby," he wept instead, "You have to calm down."_

 _Only after he'd said it did he realize what he'd called Reid. There was no taking it back, though, so he just pulled the young man close again and held on tight as Dave's nervous voice wafted in from the doorway._

" _Aaron, maybe we should call for an ambulance."_

" _No, Dave," he gave Rossi a desperate look and then pulled Reid's head to his chest, slowly rocking him as they sat on the floor of the bedroom, "Just give him a minute to come around. He—" his voice cracked and he let out a tiny, muffled cry as he ran fingers through soft chestnut curls, "He's gonna be fine. He's calming down. It'll be okay now." They continued to rock back and forth for a few minutes while Reid slowly calmed, and Aaron could feel the body in his arms jerking and tensing through the echoes of lingering sobs. "You're gonna be okay," he murmured, and couldn't stop himself from placing a kiss to the top of Reid's head, breathing in the sweet scent, "Please, Spencer, show me that you're okay. Come back to me." A moment later he heard a whimper and felt long arms wrap around him, holding him tight, "There you go," he sighed, "Just try to breathe and calm down."_

 _He felt Spencer take several shuddering, hiccuped breaths and then completely relax in his arms as a soft whisper filled the air, "Aaron? Is it r-really you? Are you really h-here?"_

" _Yeah, baby, it's really me," he sobbed with relief, kissing the top of his head once more, "It's Aaron. I'm right here and I've got you."_

.

"Hotch?"

"Hm?" he blinked several times, then noticed Reid staring at him, eyes narrowed.

"I have a reason to be spacing out," Spencer quirked a brow, "But what's your excuse?"

"Sorry..." Had he spaced out? Apparently so; he must have gotten lost in the memory. It was a moment he'd be more than happy to never see again. He shook his head and let out a long sigh, "I guess I've just got a lot on my mind."

"Well, I suppose I can let it slide," Reid softly chuckled, then a hand landed on Aaron's knee and his heart almost leapt out of his chest at the contact. A moment later, though, Spencer quickly pulled it away and circled his arm around himself, awkwardly adding, "But, ah, you know, just this once."

He could feel nervous energy emanating from the younger man, so he turned, tucking one foot underneath himself and draping his arm over the back of the couch to face him head on, "How are you doing after everything that happened today?"

"Um..." there was a hesitance to Spencer's voice as he paused, biting his lip and furrowing his brows, "Okay? I mean, I guess I'm doing okay." He looked up at Hotch, "It felt good to be able to talk about everything at the meeting. About wanting to use, and knowing that even after being clean for so long I wouldn't be judged for still struggling with it. And it ah, it also felt really nice having you there with me." Aaron watched with bated breath as long, slender fingers came up to the back of the couch and gingerly covered his hand. Spencer's voice was shy and timid, "I—I don't think I would have been able to get through this weekend without you, Aaron."

His own fingers spread open and intertwined with Reid's before he could stop them, and he pulled their joined hands down to rest comfortably on his knee. Spencer watched the movement, a tiny smile curving his lips that made Aaron's heart beat just a little bit faster. He loved seeing that smile, and feeling the physical connection. It was intimate yet innocent at the same time, and it hadn't been brought on by a crisis like all the other times they'd been close. He didn't know what this was—what they were doing in that moment—but he knew he didn't want to let go and he didn't want it to stop.

He wanted the exact opposite.

He wanted to pull Spencer in even closer, comb his fingers through silky hair, feel that willowy body pressed firmly up against him, claim those gorgeous pink lips with his own. He imagined Reid opening up to him, allowing him access to plunge deep inside and taste the sweetness he knew was right there, just waiting for him. He'd cradle Spencer's head and gently guide him down to lie on the couch, then spread his legs and settle between them as he explored every single inch of skin he could get his hands on. Spencer would wrap those long legs around his waist and they'd both curl hips inward, needy erections meeting through their clothing.

His breath hitched and he closed his eyes as heat filled his groin.

His pants felt much too tight.

He'd let his mind run away from him, gotten lost in his musings, and now he was hard and aching. When he sensed Spencer actually start to move closer, a part of him just wanted to let go and give in to all of his carnal desires—every last one.

The hand in his tightened, and nimble fingers began to move slowly up his thigh—timid at first, then more aggressive. He heard a rustling of clothes as the weight on the couch disappeared, only to redeposit itself directly onto his lap an instant later. A hand carded through his hair and he opened his eyes to see gorgeous hazel staring down at him, pupils blown wide.

Spencer was straddling him.

Spencer was _straddling_ him.

This was real.

This was actually happening.

This wasn't his imagination.

He no longer had to wonder what it would feel like to have Reid's body pressed up against his; he could feel every part of the tight, lithe form above him, undulating and grinding and absolutely wanton. A moan escaped him at the erotic sight, and his hands came up to latch onto jutting hip bones, stilling Reid's movement and pulling him further down. A spark of pleasure soared through him as their filling cocks met, and Spencer gasped, rutting into the touch.

He'd wanted this for so long, and now he wanted more...so much more. His fingers burned to feel the smooth, warm skin beneath all those clothes, but just as he was about to give in and move his hand under the hem of Reid's shirt Spencer bowed his head to try to kiss him.

That's when harsh, cruel reality crashed down around him and he realized what was happening—what they were doing.

What could happen if he just let go and let it.

It was like a bucket of ice cold water had been thrown on him, quickly snapping him out of his lust-filled haze. He let go of Reid's hips and brought his hands up to Spencer's chest, pushing him away, back to a safer distance.

This couldn't happen, no matter how much he wanted it to. Spencer was in absolutely no condition to be making decisions about intimacy right now; he was much too vulnerable and obviously not thinking clearly. So that meant Aaron was going to have to make the decision for him, and to do that he needed to quell his own wants and desires.

The task was a lot easier to do than he'd anticipated purely because he refused to take advantage of Reid's emotional state. Spencer was more than likely coming onto him because of some need he had; he was trying to escape, or feel normal, or maybe he was simply attempting to forget what had been done to him. Another possibility, although much less likely in Aaron's mind, was that Reid was actually attracted to him, maybe even interested.

That one was probably just wishful thinking.

But if Reid truly did have feelings for him then that was even more of a reason to stop before anything happened between them—anything more, anyway. Things had already gotten out of hand.

He knew they'd never have a chance at a future together if he let himself be weak now. This could very well be the first step in setting the foundation for a relationship later on; a foundation where Spencer knew he would never be forced or coerced into doing something he didn't want to do or wasn't ready for.

It was a crucial moment.

"Aaron," Reid panted, pushing back against him, desperately trying to get closer, "It's okay. I promise, this is all okay. Just, please, I need you. I need to feel you, Aaron. _Please_..."

"Reid, stop." He moved his hands to grip around Spencer's upper arms, then twisted his body, sliding the writhing man off him and over to the couch cushion by his side. Once Reid was safely relocated he backed away so they were no longer physically touching, and he tried to ignore the heated throb of want filling his groin. "This can't happen." The hurt, rejected look that crossed Spencer's face broke his heart, and he wavered for just a moment before cementing his decision to keep his distance. "Spencer, like I said earlier, I'll always be here for you, but not like that. That's not what you need."

"Why?" Reid's demeanor completely changed. His voice was tight and clipped, aggravated, his eyes hard, "Why are you doing this? Why are you letting me stay here? Bringing me into your life like this?"

"You're a member of the team."

That was probably the most uncaring, generic answer he could have possibly given, and it looked like that's exactly what Reid thought about it, too. Maybe he was trying too hard to hide his feelings now, overcompensating for earlier when he'd let his love for the younger man bleed out into that awful bedroom—when he'd held him in his arms and brought him out of the flashback.

"You're a friend," he added, softer, "And you needed help."

"I'm a fucking mess, Hotch!" he yelled, clearly worked up and very angry, "I mean, fucking look at me Aaron! I just tried to throw myself at you! Who even _does_ that?! Who does something like that after everything that's happened?! Of course you wouldn't fucking want me!"

"Spencer, you need to calm down—"

"What the hell's wrong with me, Hotch?!" he asked, eyes darting back and forth, frowning as his voice grew softer, "Am I really that desperate for affection? Is that it? Do I need it that bad that I'll just take it from whoever I can?" He stopped, staring at a point on the wall behind Hotch for a moment, then brought his gaze back to him. "Maybe...maybe I asked for it," he mumbled, chewing on his lip, "Maybe I wanted Park to do all those things to me. Maybe I deserved what he did, _everything_ he did. Yeah...maybe a part of me wanted it—"

"Don't you dare say that!" His hands shot up and grabbed hold of Spencer's arms a little too roughly, voice strained with his effort to keep from flat out screaming. He was trembling with a rage he didn't even know he'd been harboring as he moved into Reid's personal space, their lips so close that the temptation and desire to crash their mouths together was almost overwhelming to him. "Never say that again," he growled instead, hands tightening their grip, shaking the body in their hold as his anger bubbled up, "Do you fucking hear me?"

Spencer let out a pained whine and gave him a quick, jerky nod.

"You didn't ask for any of what that monster did to you," he continued, still trembling, still barely holding back his ire, "And even if you had asked for it, or fucking _wanted_ it, that still wouldn't have made it right. You still wouldn't have deserved any of it."

"A-Aaron," Reid gasped, looking at him, eyes wide and misty, a hint of something a little too close to fear swirling in their depths, "You're—" he could sense Spencer's breath hot against his skin, feel his body quivering, scared, "You're—You're hurting me, Aaron. Please, please s-stop..."

Immediately his hands released their hold on thin arms and he backed away, all his anger and rage dissipating instantly at the sight of Spencer looking at him with those fearful, frightened eyes.

What the hell had he just done?

Why the fuck did he think laying hands on Reid like that would be in any way okay?

 _Ever?_

How could he do something like that?!

He had to get his damn head together and stop letting his emotions run wild—stop letting them control his actions. He'd been so wound up in his own helplessness and guilt over what had happened to Reid that he hadn't even realized he'd been taking his anger at the situation out on him.

.

" _He'll be staying with me."_

" _Hotch, I couldn't impose—"_

" _This isn't up for discussion, Reid."_

.

" _Aaron, I have to go in there! You—You don't...oh god, you don't fucking understand!"_

" _Dammit, Spencer, stop arguing with me!"_

.

" _I don't think I can drive with my wrist..."_

" _I really wasn't planning on letting you try."_

.

 _"I'm not fine, and I'm not okay. I'm not, am I Hotch?"_

" _No, Reid, you're not."_

.

That was definitely not what Spencer needed. What he needed was stability and a place where he felt safe and protected, a place he knew he wouldn't be hurt. He didn't need to be around someone that would lose their temper, yell at him and push him around.

The very idea of doing that to Reid made him sick, and he couldn't help but wonder if the way Spencer was looking at him right now was the same way he'd looked at Simmons during the attack.

He had to fight back a wave of nausea at the thought.

He wasn't like Parker Simmons, and he wasn't like his father.

He would spend the rest of his life proving that to himself and to Spencer if he had to.

Taking a deep breath, he ran fingers through his hair and looked back into those hazel eyes, "Reid, I'm so sorry. I would never hurt you like that..."

What happened next wasn't exactly what he'd expected, but it proved to him that Spencer Reid was a hell of a lot stronger and more resilient than he'd thought; and that he was thinking much clearer than he'd given him credit for.

Or, at least he was thinking clearer now.

He watched as the fear in Reid's eyes morphed into something else—something calm, and peaceful, and full of understanding—then Spencer stood from the couch and slowly knelt on the floor in front of him, wincing slightly as he did so. He felt slender fingers again make contact with his knees, hesitantly drifting up his thighs, and he almost jumped out of his skin to get away from the touch. His heart was pounding a mile a minute and his stomach felt like it was in his throat as his body tensed, wary, afraid Reid was trying to come onto him again; but then the hands stilled over his lap and Spencer looked up at him through a lovely mess of tousled curls and beautifully clear, steadfast eyes.

"Aaron, it's alright," he softly assured, "I know you didn't mean to hurt me." His voice cracked a little at that, and he huffed, "And I also know that what I just said sounds exactly like something I used to say to Parker all the time. _'You didn't mean to hurt me. It was just an accident. It was my fault'._ It's kind of ironic, really." There was a pause, and he could almost see the wheels spinning in that genius brain, then Reid seemed to find the words he'd been looking for, "I don't exactly know what's going on here, between us, but I've been feeling something all weekend...I think you have, too. It's hard to explain. Honestly, I never thought you were gay. Or, um, bisexual? Or, whatever..." He bit his lip, cheeks flushing adorably pink, "But you responded just then, I mean, you got aroused...when I, um...well, you know—and I feel like something's definitely happening. We could both argue that it's transference or loneliness or desperation; possibly a little bit of all three," he awkwardly laughed, the sound sweet and breathy; it sent warmth flooding through Aaron's chest, "But I think we both also know that this isn't the most ideal time for anything to start, ah, with us. Physically, between us." There was another pause, and Reid frowned, "And I recognize the absolute contradictory nature of what I just said and my horrendous actions a moment ago...I'm so sorry, Aaron. It was completely out of line and I never should have done it."

"Why did you?" The question came out before he knew he'd asked it, but he needed to know.

"I think I just wanted to feel something," Spencer sighed, "Feel something other than _him,_ and I thought maybe you wanted it, too...but that doesn't excuse what I did. Clearly I have some major issues I need to work through, and you might have some as well. The outburst just then..." Reid gave him an intense look—sure, resolute and unyielding, "An outburst like that can never happen again, Aaron. That's how everything started before..."

"Spencer, I would never—"

"I know," he quickly cut him off, "I know you wouldn't, but it still can't happen again. If it does, I'll leave. I don't want to, Aaron, but I will. I'll leave and I'll find someplace else to stay until I'm better, until I'm able to get my own place."

He gave a small nod, realizing that this was a boundary Spencer was setting that he wasn't willing to budge on, rightfully so. There was no excuse for laying his hands on Reid the way he had, and he actually felt a little proud of how Spencer was reacting to the entire situation.

"Now, um, as for the other thing," Reid gave him a shy, nervous half smile, then swallowed, licking his lips, "I'm—I'm not saying no. I'm not saying I'm not interested in you or that I don't want to be with you, or even that I'll stop something from happening between us if it feels right. But what I _am_ saying is that at this moment in time it doesn't. It—It doesn't feel right to me, Aaron."

He felt like the wind had just been knocked out of him. He wanted to be hurt, or upset, or even mad; but he was just a little too stunned to feel any of those things. He thought he'd kept his feelings for Spencer hidden better than that; this weekend notwithstanding. He'd stumbled several times while comforting Reid through this whole ordeal. He'd let certain names slip from his mouth, allowed a few kisses to fall from his lips, ran fingers through chestnut hair. He hadn't thought Reid had caught on to any of that, but evidently he was mistaken.

Spencer _was_ a genius, after all, and Aaron's actions had been rather obvious.

He took something else away from Spencer's speech besides the fact that Reid apparently knew how he felt about him, though. It had sounded an awful lot like Spencer had confessed to reciprocating those feelings. He'd been listening very carefully, and he'd most definitely heard the part where Reid said starting something between them didn't feel right _at this moment in time_. Just because it didn't feel right at the moment didn't mean it might not feel right later...in a different moment.

He could handle that.

Definitely.

He could and _would_ wait as long as it took for it to feel right for both of them. He could do that because Spencer was worth waiting for. Hell, he'd already been waiting for the younger man for years. He'd been waiting even when he'd thought nothing would ever come of it.

The only difference now was that he had hope.

He looked into Reid's eyes as the man continued to kneel at his feet, waiting for him to say something, and lightly cupped his cheek, "Has anyone ever told you just how amazing you are?" Spencer started to laugh and shake his head in protest, but Aaron's other hand came up to cradle his face, stopping the movement and keeping their eyes locked. "If this doesn't feel right to you, then I'll wait as long as you need for that to change," he vowed, heart racing and lips trembling, "I can do that. I can wait until you're ready because you're worth it, Spencer. And even if you're never ready, you'll still be worth waiting for."

"Yeah?" Reid asked, a bit of shyness and wonder in his hopeful voice, brilliant grin and sparkling hazel eyes.

"Yeah," he whispered, nodding his head and smiling, "You're absolutely worth it."

.


	15. Something More

Chapter Fifteen

Something More

.

Once they'd finished up what was either a very late lunch or an early dinner of left over tater tot casserole and surprise brownies they hadn't even realized Garcia had stashed away in the pantry, Aaron helped Spencer up the stairs and into the bathroom. He then made several trips back out to the car to bring all of his things in. He said he'd put everything in the guest room, out of the way, and Reid could unpack it all at his convenience.

However, Spencer really didn't see himself doing any of that today; he was just too exhausted. After what had happened, he kind of just wanted to go to sleep and start fresh tomorrow.

He had to do something else first, though, before he could try to relax for the rest of the evening.

He needed to take a shower.

He'd showered the night before, and then again that morning, but he still felt dirty. He realized he wasn't, and that he was being extremely irrational, but he swore he could _feel_ Parker still on his skin, lingering, seeping into his pores, poisoning him. He itched with it, and he had to scrub it away. It was borderline obsessive, he knew, but it helped him calm down so he was going to keep doing it, at least until it became problematic.

And that hadn't happened yet.

He'd actually been pleasantly surprised to find that washing his hair and his body had become a little bit easier with every shower he took, which, in his mind, was all the more reason for him to continue. It still wasn't perfect, and he struggled with opening the various bottles using only one hand, but he was managing. His overall aches and pains were less as well, at least compared to the day before. Whether that was due to him healing rather rapidly or merely acclimating to the discomfort he didn't know; but either way, he was thankful for the gradual relief.

As he stepped out of the tub and dried off he let his mind wander back to the conversation he'd had with Hotch before lunch. He hadn't planned on professing his feelings for his boss today—or _ever_ , really—but something about the way Aaron had been reacting to him over the weekend made him question his beliefs; made him wonder if perhaps he wasn't the only one harboring certain feelings.

He still couldn't believe he'd actually tried to seduce the older man, though. He'd jumped Aaron Hotchner, straddled him and practically begged him to take him.

He'd thrown himself at his boss.

It had definitely been an extremely low point for him, and he was mortified by his actions.

He knew exactly why he'd done it: the itch had been coming back. The ghost of Parker's hands and mouth and teeth running over his body had grown stronger throughout the day and he just couldn't take it any more. He'd desperately wanted to drown those sensations out with something else. Or _someone_ else...someone he trusted and cared for. Someone who he knew was good and kind and safe. He'd wanted Aaron to scratch that horrible itch and make it go away using _his_ hands and _his_ mouth and _his_ body.

He'd really thought that Hotch might do it, too. The man had been sending him signals all weekend, showing him how much he cared through touches and words and looks. He'd thought, at the very least, that Aaron was sexually attracted to him and would give him what he'd wanted.

But Hotch had shot him down.

He was right to do it, of course.

Spencer couldn't argue the fact that what he'd tried to do was wrong on many different levels, and Aaron putting a stop to it proved what an incredible man he truly was.

But when Hotch had suddenly lost his temper and gotten angry, grabbing him and yelling at him, he'd been more than a little scared. The experience had been frighteningly similar to how he'd felt with Parker, and for a brief instant he was terrified that he was still with his ex, that Parker's hands were the ones squeezing his arms painfully tight and shaking him. Thankfully that feeling only lasted a moment, because when he'd looked into Aaron's eyes he hadn't seen hate or rage staring back at him; he'd seen pain, and sorrow, and warmth...and maybe something more.

Something soft and tender, loving.

 _Love?_

Perhaps not, but either way, he knew Hotch cared about him deeply; more so than a boss cared for a subordinate or a friend cared for another friend. He saw it in those chocolate brown eyes he'd daydreamed about on countless flights on the jet, and nights spent in hotel rooms, and days filled with paperwork at the office. Aaron's voice had been yelling at him, but his eyes had been pleading with him, soothing him.

Like a lover would.

He'd been throwing himself at his boss as a means of escape—a way to cleanse himself—but once he'd realized that Hotch had true feelings for him he didn't want to mess anything up. Aaron had stopped him from making a huge mistake and obliterating any chance they might have for a healthy relationship in the future, and he was immensely grateful.

He had a difficult time thinking of Hotch as anything but straight, so the idea that he wasn't had thrown him for a loop momentarily, but then something inside him clicked. He'd seen the way Aaron looked at him, and felt the pain caused by the man's brutal grip, and he'd put his foot down.

Hotch wasn't like Parker, he knew that, but he still wasn't going to take any chances.

He'd pulled from some pool of strength and courage he hadn't even known he'd possessed, and he'd set an important and massive boundary between the two of them. He'd told Aaron Hotchner that he knew the man had feelings for him, and for some unknown reason he'd confessed to reciprocating those feelings. He'd also told him to never lay his hands on him in anger again or he'd leave, and that he wasn't ready for anything to happen between them—at least not physically. Those were all things he'd never had the nerve to say to Parker; he'd always just let the man have his way out of fear of retaliation. It was strange, really, because Hotch was so much more formidable and intimidating than Parker could ever even hope to be, and he'd told him exactly what he'd wanted without fear or trepidation.

There may have been some embarrassment.

But he liked the feeling of power it gave him to know that he could stand up for himself and fight back if he needed to. He just wished he'd found that strength and courage sooner, before he'd ended up in the hospital.

Shaking the negative thought from his mind he hurried to finish drying off and then threw his pajamas on: a comfortable pair of flannel pants with little K-9s all over them and a baggy t-shirt with a chakram on the front. Gingerly, he made his way down the stairs and entered the living room, smiling at the sight of Jack sitting on the floor by the coffee table. He was working on a puzzle, a plate full of brownies within arm's reach.

"Hey, Spencer," the boy happily greeted.

"Hi, Jack."

Jack looked at him for another moment, then scrunched his nose and tilted his head, "What's that?"

"Hm?" he glanced down to where Jack was pointing at his shirt, then answered, "Oh, it's a chakram."

"What's a chakram?"

"Well, it's a disc-shaped throwing weapon that originated in India. It's got a sharpened outer edge and can range from five to twelve inches in diameter." He could have gone into a much more detailed and lengthy explanation of its history and construction, but he stopped himself, merely adding, "And this particular chakram is Xena's signature weapon."

He heard Hotch come up to stand next to him, quirking a brow, "Xena?"

"Ah, yeah." He met Aaron's gaze, heat flooding his cheeks as he gave the man a sheepish grin, then moved to sit next to Jack on the floor, "Um, have you never seen the show?"

"I'm pretty sure it was after my time," came a soft chuckle.

"Who's Xena?" Jack asked, eyes full of curiosity.

"Well, she's a warrior who lived in ancient Greece and fought all sorts of mythical creatures and gods."

"Wow!" he exclaimed, "Really?"

"Uh huh." He smiled as fond memories washed over him, thinking back to when he'd first moved to California for school. "I used to watch the show when I was at Caltech. I guess I kind of related to the characters."

"But Xena's a girl, right?"

"Yes, she is, but that didn't really matter to me. The show followed two women as they traveled together, having adventures and helping people, but it wasn't necessarily about women. It was about empowerment no matter who you were. It didn't matter that the heroes were women; no one ever questioned their ability to fight and command because of their gender. At the time I was a thirteen year old boy, small for my age, alone and scared on a college campus." He looked up and saw Hotch leaning against the wall, arms crossed and listening intently. "The show helped me believe that I could make it there, in a completely different state, away from my mom—I could make it in the real world. And when the bullies came around, which was unfortunately an inevitable part of my life back then, it gave me the courage to stand up to them." He hadn't really thought about it until now, but his current situation wasn't much different. He was still dealing with people, one in particular, who wanted to hurt him and beat him down. "Um," he made a noise, a sad kind of laugh in the back of his throat at the revelation, "I ah, I guess maybe bullies are still a big part of my life..."

"But you were brave."

"Hm?" he glanced back down to Jack, "Brave?"

"Yeah. When you got hurt fighting that bad man," the boy supplied matter-of-factly, "You were brave when you fought him, and you beat him."

He laughed again, but it was a much happier sound as he met Aaron's gaze. Hotch was smiling at him, a contemplative look on his face, and it made his chest feel warm and full. He realized that even now, after everything he'd been through...after all the people he'd helped and unsubs he'd taken down, he still needed to be reminded that he was brave and strong and capable. Aaron and Jack were helping him realize that, and he thought maybe the idea was finally beginning to sink in. He quietly stared back at the older man, smiling.

"Dad," Jack enthusiastically huffed, breaking the reverie, "Can we watch Xena?"

"We'll see, buddy," Hotch chuckled, "But for now I want you to go brush your teeth and get ready for bed."

"Okay," he whined, getting up and turning back to Reid, "Do you think you feel good enough to read me a story tonight, Spencer?"

"You know, I think I'd really like that, Jack," he grinned, then his eyes flitted back up to Aaron's, noting how content he looked, "Get ready like your dad said and I'll meet you in your room in a few minutes."

"Okay!"

At that, the boy bounced up the stairs and Hotch hurried over to help Reid off the floor. He really needed to try to _stay_ off the floor to begin with; getting up after his and Aaron's talk earlier had been hell on his aching body, and this time was proving no different.

"Here," Aaron pulled him up gently and held him close, taking most of his weight as they walked to the dining room table, where they both took a seat, "Let me re-wrap your wrist."

He nodded his consent, laying his arm on the table without argument. He'd decided to stop worrying about being a burden and just accept the help Hotch wanted to give him; and he'd be lying if he said he didn't kind of enjoy all the attention.

It was nice to be cared for, and Aaron was a master at it.

"You know, I didn't tell Jack this part," he continued when he knew the boy was out of ear shot, "But there was another reason I loved Xena so much."

"Oh? And what would that be?" Aaron asked.

"Well, I ah, I kinda used to have a major thing for Cupid and Julius Caesar."

"Come again?" Hotch quirked a brow at him, then smirked as he brought his eyes down to examine his wrist.

Fingers gently ran across the skin of his arm, softly tracing the bruising and the red lines marring the surface, and the touch sent a shiver down his spine. The way Aaron was caressing him felt reverent, and adoring...affectionate; but it also felt deeply sorrowful in a way, even with the smile still lingering on the man's lips.

"Y-Yeah," he nodded, clearing his throat and trying to keep his voice playful to lighten the mood in the air, "They um, they were both played by the same actor."

"And who would that be?" Aaron asked, replacing the splint and beginning to carefully wrap the bandage around.

"Dr. Leonard 'Bones' McCoy himself, Karl Urban."

Hotch stopped his work and looked at him for a long minute, then his face lit up and his smile grew, "I do see your point."

"Yeah, I thought you might," he smirked, standing after Aaron was finished with his arm. He turned toward the stairs to head to Jack's room, throwing a sing-song, "You really should give it a watch sometime," over his shoulder as he went, grinning at the laughter that trailed behind him.

* * *

When he reached Jack's bedroom he softly knocked on the door before entering. Jack was already in his pajamas and sitting atop his bed, Captain America sheets pulled down with a large book in his hands.

The sight was a tad peculiar, and it caught him slightly off guard. He hadn't really given a whole lot of thought to what Jack might want him to read, but he'd assumed it would be a fairly simple children's book. When the boy turned it around and he saw the cover, though, he couldn't stop the anxious giggle that escaped his throat.

Of all the stories the kid could have chosen, he definitely wasn't expecting that one.

Jack was beaming brightly at him, clearly very excited as he held up a copy of _The Lord of the Rings_.

His stomach seized, clenching uncomfortably as a memory popped into his head.

.

 _The blindfold was removed and the next thing he knew, he was staring at an indoor picnic set up in the middle of Parker's living room floor. The man had gotten take out from one of his favorite restaurants and_ The Fellowship of the Ring _was in the DVD player. Blankets and pillows surrounded the area, adding to the coziness of the scene._

 _It was kind of amazing._

 _"You—You did all this?" he asked, turning to his boyfriend, "For me?"_

 _Parker gave him a brilliant smile in return, "Spence, who else would I do this for?"_

.

"This is the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me..." he mumbled, sadly.

"Huh?"

He snapped back from the memory and looked at Jack, who was watching him intently. He must have said that out loud. "Nothing," he assured, moving closer to the bed.

He absolutely loved the book, but unfortunately now he also associated the story with Parker; or, at least the movie adaptations. Since there was so much more in the book maybe reading it would be different. He certainly hoped so because he didn't want to taint the experience for Jack; the boy seemed so excited to read it with him, and he'd hate to let him down.

He'd just compartmentalize it, put it out of his mind.

He could do that.

He hoped he could, anyway.

"I really wanna read it, but some of the words are funny looking and I thought maybe you could help me, since you're, like, you know, super, super, super smart."

"I don't know if I deserve all those supers, but I'd love to read Tolkien with you, Jack," he replied, taking a deep breath—trying to still his nerves.

He wasn't going to let his past ruin this opportunity to spend time with Jack.

Carefully, he sat down on the mattress and positioned a pillow against the headboard, then leaned back and let out a sigh as his body relaxed just a bit. Thankfully, the kid's bed was much more comfortable than he'd been expecting.

"Just curious," he looked over to the little boy, "But why haven't you asked your dad to read this to you?"

"Well, I just got it at the library yesterday, and he's busy most of the time, and, um..." Jack bit his lower lip, then quickly mumbled, "He's not near as smart as you are, and I just wanna make sure we read it right."

He almost fell out of the bed when he heard that, and was unable to stifle the laughter that bubbled up and out of him, mingling with tiny giggles from Jack. The outburst took away all the anxiousness and tension he'd been harboring, replacing it with a cozy kind of warmth.

For the first time in a long time he thought maybe he was feeling honest to goodness _joy_ , and he owed a lot of that to Jack. Remarkably, the boy made him feel comfortable in his own skin again, and he'd found himself truly enjoying his company. That in itself was a small miracle considering he'd been plagued by the Reid Effect for so long. Only Henry had seemed to be fully immune, until now.

Jack handed him the book and then curled up along his side, snuggling in close and laying his head on Spencer's shoulder.

At first the show of affection startled him, but then that cozy warmth quickly began to fill his chest and he found himself wrapping his arm around the boy as best he could, hugging him close.

"Is this okay?" Jack shyly asked, tilting his head up to look sleepily at him, "I don't wanna hurt you or anything."

"Oh, no," he shook his head, "This is just fine, Jack."

It was more than fine, really. It was amazing, and perfect, and completely unexpected. He felt his heart tugging at him in an odd sort of way, like he was being pulled even closer to the little boy in his arms. Growing attached, maybe. He didn't know quite what to make of it, honestly, but he knew that he liked it, and that was enough.

"I'm really sorry you got hurt, Spencer," Jack mumbled, "But I'm glad you're feeling better. And I'm super happy you're staying with us now."

The tugging at his heart grew, and tears began to sting his eyes. "I am too, Jack," he whispered, voice strained as he fought back surprising and overwhelming emotions, "I really, really am too."

As they settled down, he opened the book up to the first page, took a few deep breaths to collect himself and began to read, "When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton. Bilbo was very rich and very peculiar, and had been the wonder of the Shire for sixty years, ever since his remarkable disappearance and unexpected return..."

* * *

Spencer quietly shut the door to Jack's room and turned to move down the hallway.

He'd read up to where Gandalf threw the ring into the fireplace, but then Jack had started to nod off so he'd stopped, promising to read more of the story the next night. The boy'd given him a sleepy grin and cuddled into the blankets as he'd climbed out of the bed and turned off the lamp.

When he passed Hotch's office he saw the light on and stopped, knocking softly against the door, slightly ajar.

"Come in," was the muffled and immediate reply.

He pushed the door open and saw Aaron sitting at his desk with a pen clutched precariously between his teeth, his head bowed over a stack of papers. He hadn't gotten a good look at the space the night before, so his eyes darted around as he cautiously advanced into the room. There were several book cases filled with what looked like criminology and law books, for the most part; and a huge, ornate desk sat in the middle of the room. Two comfortable looking leather wing back chairs were positioned in front of it.

They looked soft and well-worn.

Inviting.

He moved towards one and Hotch raised his head from the pile of papers, smiling as he let the pen drop from his mouth, "Hey."

"Hi."

"What book did you and Jack read?"

"Oh, um, _The Lord of the Rings_ ," he answered, stopping to stand next to the closest chair, "It's one of my favorites."

Hotch frowned, "That's some pretty heavy reading."

"Yeah, I guess," he commented, "He seemed to get into the story exceptionally quickly. I was a little surprised at how well he did, to be honest. He's very bright, Hotch."

"That he is," Aaron sighed fondly, "He definitely keeps me on my toes. I know he has _The Hobbit_ , but I don't remember getting _The Lord of the Rings_ for him."

"He said he picked it out at the library," he shrugged, "Um, yesterday..."

 _Yesterday._

Every time he thought about yesterday his body wanted to shudder and he felt queasy. He found himself wondering what he might have been going through the moment Jack decided to get that particular book.

Had it been when he was in radiology getting scans done of his head and arm?

Or maybe when the nurse was cleaning his wounds, or possibly starting his IV?

When the doctor repaired the laceration?

Was it when he'd told Connie and Aaron everything that Parker had done to him, in as much detail as he could stomach saying out loud?

Or maybe it was during the rape kit?

Was it when Hotch had bent down and kissed him on the forehead...

.

" _Perfect, Spencer. You're absolutely perfect. Just focus on me and we'll get through this together."_

" _Do you promise?"_

" _Oh yes. I promise you, we'll get through all of it together."_

.

"Sit," Hotch nodded to the chair he was standing by, bringing him out of his thoughts, "Let's talk for a minute."

That didn't sound good.

Usually conversations that began with _let's talk_ didn't bode well, so he immediately grew nervous and wary. He had no idea what Hotch wanted to speak to him about, but there were so many valid options to chose from, most of which he would probably rather not discuss at all.

The list of things he didn't want to talk about was growing rapidly.

He sat down and watched anxiously as Aaron stood from his desk and circled around to lean on the front edge, and then they just kind of stared at each other for a minute. It was clear Hotch had something on his mind, but he was staying quiet.

"Is, um, everything okay?" he asked, his face flushing as the mask of calm collectedness he was trying desperately to hide behind began to crack and crumble, "Should I have read a different book...?"

"No, Spencer," Aaron assured, "This has nothing to do with your choice, or Jack's choice, of reading material. I actually love that you're spending time with him. I think he really likes you."

"Oh." He felt the corners of his mouth quirk up at that, but they quickly fell into a frown when he saw the worried look on Hotch's face deepen, "Then, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong—well, nothing exactly," Aaron corrected himself, "It's just that it's Sunday night. The weekend's over, and tomorrow's Monday. Jack will go back to school, I'll go back to work, and you'll be off for two weeks."

Right.

He hadn't thought about the weekend being over. To be honest, he hadn't really thought about it even _being_ the weekend. Frankly, to him it seemed like every moment since Parker had thrown him to the kitchen floor until now had blended together, morphing into one giant, long, tedious blur of fractured details, dizzying confusion and acute pain.

"I want to make sure you're gonna be okay here alone," Hotch continued, snapping him back to the present once again, "If not, then maybe I can have Garcia bring her laptop over and stay here with you. She can keep you company, unless we get called out on a case."

His brain was still a little stuck on it being the weekend, and the fact that the weekend was ending. He would have to be alone tomorrow. He hadn't been left alone since he'd called Aaron yesterday morning.

Not really.

Not entirely.

He'd spent last night by himself in the guest bedroom, but he'd known Hotch, and even Jack to an extent, were right down the hall. He'd known that if he'd needed anything during the night there were people for him to go to for help.

Tomorrow would be completely different. Tomorrow, he wouldn't have anyone to help him if he needed it.

And what if he needed it?

What if he had another flashback and he couldn't get out of it?

Hotch had been the one to help him come back all the other times; he'd always been with him when he got lost in his head.

"Spencer?"

His eyes darted up to Aaron's and he licked his lips, unsure of what to say. "Uh, to be quite honest, Hotch, I hadn't really thought about it," he began, watching as the other man frowned. "I'm sure I'll be fine, though," he added, fidgeting in his seat.

He was being paranoid. How hard could it be to stay alone for a few hours during the day? He could handle it.

"Garcia wouldn't mind coming over," Aaron coaxed.

"No, really Hotch, I-I'll be okay." He would be fine. He could stay in a house by himself; it was a simple task. He wasn't an invalid or a child, he was a grown man who'd lived alone long before Parker had ever even come into his life, and he could do it again. He gave his boss a shaky smile, cursing his stupid nerves as he did so, "Everything's fine."

"If you're sure..." Aaron acquiesced, but Spencer could still see the concern painting his face, "I'll call you at lunch, though, just to see how you're doing. Depending on how things are, if we need to, we can reevaluate our options then."

He nodded his head in agreement as he rose from the chair. If he didn't get out of the room soon Aaron would definitely notice the uncontrollable tremor he could feel running through his body.

"Was there anything you wanted to talk about, Reid?"

Yes, lots of things.

He wanted to tell Hotch that he was actually more than a little terrified at the prospect of being left alone in the house, with no one at all nearby to help him if something happened or if he freaked out. He wanted to ask Aaron to stay, to call in tomorrow and stay right here with him, keep him safe.

He wanted to say those things, but he didn't.

"I'm just really tired," he sighed instead, "I think I'm gonna head to bed early, try to get some extra sleep."

"Alright," Hotch murmured, pushing off the edge of the desk and closing the short distance between them.

Aaron got so close that Spencer could sense the heat radiating off him, and he tried not to tense at the feel of it. Part of him truly wanted Aaron to be that close, and another part was practically begging for their bodies to be even closer still. He wanted to have Hotch right up against him, strong arms wrapping around him, hands tangling into his hair. Pulling. They'd share breath between open mouths so close that it would hardly take an ounce of effort to tilt into parted lips, tasting the sweetness he'd always imagined would be waiting for him. Hips would slot together perfectly, and he'd feel every single hard line and rippling muscle of Aaron's body as they pressed into one another.

But then a third part of him was clawing, thrashing, screaming for space between them...

.

 _His back was slammed hard against the wall as Parker snatched his wrists and pinned them on either side of his head. A jolt of pain radiated down his spine and his hands quickly grew numb from the severe hold._

 _Cool, icy blue eyes smirked at him._

" _Let me fuck you, Spence."_

 _Before he could say anything in reply lips crashed into his and he gasped, allowing a tongue to hungrily invade his mouth. He was trapped, suffocating, his terror growing; the man was all over him, much too close and much too hard. He could feel Parker's cock pressing against his own and hated his body for even halfheartedly trying to respond to the friction._

 _He didn't want this, did he?_

 _No, there wasn't time and he had to go._

 _He needed to get away._

" _There's...not a lot of time. I need to get to the jet—" he tried, but was harshly cut off by the hand in his hair tightening._

 _His head was forced further into the wall and he cried out as another spark of pain ricocheted through him. Hot breath blanketed his ear._

" _Oh, this won't take long, baby. Promise."_

.

He scrunched his eyes shut and took a sharp inhale, trying to shake the invading memory away. When he opened them again Aaron had taken a step back, and his chest tightened at the loss. He knew he'd needed space just mere seconds ago, but now that he had it he wished he didn't. It felt like he was getting whiplash from the constant up and down roller coaster his emotions were on.

"Sleep well, Spencer," Aaron whispered, then turned back toward his desk, "I'll see you in the morning."

"Oh, um, o-okay. You too, Hotch," he stammered, moving in the opposite direction and walking out of the office.

A moment later he ducked into his own room, his heart beating wildly. He wasn't sure if the cause was fear or exhilaration. He hoped Aaron hadn't caught on to how freaked he'd really gotten, but in all actuality that was the most likely reason the man had backed away from him in the first place. Hotch had no doubt seen how spooked he'd been at their closeness and retreated to give him room.

He sighed and shut the door, turning to lean against it as he took in the space—his new home, however temporary it may be. The room was much more crowded now that all of his things were inside. Pretty much everything he owned was right here, in this tiny little room. His life had been reduced to a few boxes and bags and stacks of books, some clothes and shoes, and a beat up Volvo out in the drive way.

He didn't have anything else.

Not that he really needed a whole lot; he'd never been huge on material possessions. He'd had an entire apartment full of furniture and knick knacks before, though, and those things had helped define who he was.

When he'd moved into Parker's house he'd been strongly encouraged to sell almost everything he owned. He'd been told that anything he'd need was already there, and if it wasn't then Park would get it for him. Looking back on that now, he realized it was just another way the man had tried to control and condition him. He'd walked right into a dependency scenario where he'd allowed himself to become reliant on Park for almost everything. He'd found himself completely surrounded by Parker's things, Parker's scent, Parker's interests. At some point during the relationship he'd stopped being Dr. Spencer Reid and he'd become nothing more than Parker Simmons' live-in boyfriend.

Just another one of Parker's _things._

He really should have seen the red flags.

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes as he moved over to the bed. There was no reason to beat himself up about what he should or shouldn't have done now. It was all over, and there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. Now he just needed to focus on the future and moving forward; and maybe someday he could try to become Dr. Spencer Reid again.

If that was even a possibility anymore.

Slow and easy, he lowered himself onto the bed, resting his head on the pillow and pulling the comforter over him as he stared out the window towards the night sky. He could actually see a few stars out here, in the suburbs. It was nice, and a rarity for someone who'd lived in cities for most of their life. Especially growing up in Vegas, it had been a very uncommon occurrence to see any stars through all the city lights.

He thought he could get used to watching them twinkle every night, although he really shouldn't. He'd probably need to start looking for a new place to live soon, once he'd healed a little.

The idea was strangely upsetting to him.

He was starting to feel quite comfortable here, in the Hotchner residence with Aaron, and with Jack. He liked the idea of coming home at the end of the day to other people instead of an empty, quiet apartment; and the thought made his heart skip a beat.

Jack was the sweetest little boy, and Aaron...well, he didn't exactly know what Aaron was to him anymore.

His boss, yes.

His friend, apparently. Especially now, after everything they'd gone through over the weekend, what they'd endured together. They were definitely friends.

But was he something more?

Probably.

Hotch had certainly shown him that he cared about him. He'd let his feelings be known that afternoon, when he'd told him he would wait for him.

He couldn't stop himself from smiling at the idea of gorgeous, strong, brave, and charming Aaron Hotchner waiting around for _him._ Waiting for nerdy, geeky, shy, and awkward Spencer Reid.

Aaron was such a good man; a man that cared about him, and worried about him...

.

" _Tell me what the fuck happened last night, Spencer, or so help me, I'll beat it out of you."_

" _The—The whole team went out. P-Please," he tried to keep his voice steady, but his heart was frantic from the threat in the air, "N-Nothing happened. I was the first one to leave, and I came straight home. I promise. I—I came home, t-to you."_

 _The grip on his neck tightened and he clawed urgently at Parker's hand, trying to lessen the pain. He was having a hard time breathing, his head felt fuzzy._

" _Well,_ sweetie _, if nothing happened then why did Hotch—oh no, wait! I mean_ Aaron _," Park grinned, but it looked more like a vicious snarl, "Why did_ Aaron _call you last night?"_

" _Wh-What?" He frowned and shook his head, trying to reconcile what he'd just heard and make sense of it. Apparently he wasn't getting enough oxygen to his brain because Hotch wouldn't have called him; the man would have no reason to. "He—He didn't."_

" _Oh yeah, he did." Parker gave him a nod and a condescending little look, "He called to check on you. Said you were upset when you left the_ bar _, and he was_ worried. _Now, isn't that just the sweetest fuckin' thing you ever did hear?" Sharp pain stabbed at the back of his neck and Parker's other hand grabbed him by his shirt; then he was yanked painfully to his feet. He didn't want to, but he threw his arms out to cling to his boyfriend in a desperate attempt to keep from falling back to the floor. He was dizzy and disoriented; he couldn't stand on his own. Pain shot through his wrist right before another jolt radiated down his spine as his back was slammed against the wall. "You wanna tell me why the fuck you needed checking on, Spence?!"_

 _Maybe Hotch_ had _checked on him last night. He hadn't had his phone with him when they'd gone to the bedroom. He'd left it in his bag. He'd left it in his bag and practically begged Parker to take him to bed and fuck him._

 _How stupid had that been?_

" _I-I'm sorry," he stammered, his words slurring against his will, "I don't know why he called."_

" _Oh, I do," Parker hissed, "I know exactly why he called you. He called you because he thinks your his. But you're not, are ya Spence?" His voice grew soft, almost tender, and the hand that had been digging into his neck moved to gently stroke down his cheek. A part of him wanted to lean into the touch, and he felt sick because of it. "You're not his because you're mine," he murmured, bringing their lips so close he could feel them moving against his own, "You're my pretty boy. Isn't that right, baby?"_

.

He gasped at the sudden memory invasion and grabbed for the stuffed dinosaur that had been sitting by his head. He hated not having total control over his mind—not being able to tamp down the horrible things trapped within his head. He didn't want to see what Park had done to him again. Hadn't it been enough for him to actually live through it? It was seared into his memory forever, so why did his brain feel the need to throw him into horrible flashbacks without warning as well?

It was torture.

Although, this particular flashback had reminded him of something very important.

And interesting.

Hotch had called him Friday night. With everything that had gone on he'd let that information slip into the back of his mind. Parker had told him Aaron left a voicemail on his phone. What were the odds that it was still there? That it hadn't been erased?

He lifted up on an elbow and reached for his cell sitting on the bedside table, where it had stayed all day. Swiping it unlocked, he hit the voicemail icon and smiled when he saw the last message received was early Saturday morning from Hotch. He was a lot happier that Parker hadn't erased it than he thought he'd be. Pressing play, he put the phone to his ear and sunk back down into the pillow as he listened to a smooth, velvet voice he was rapidly growing to love flow through the speaker.

" _Hey, it's Hotch. Or, Aaron. I was just calling to make sure you got home alright. You seemed a little upset when you left the bar and I was worried. If you get this you can call—you know, whenever. Anyway, have a good weekend. I'll see you on Monday, Reid."_

He listened as the message ended and couldn't help the huge grin that curved his lips or the flush that started to seep into his cheeks, warming them. Aaron sounded nervous and anxious on the recording, like he'd been upset that Spencer hadn't answered. It was cute and endearing, and totally un-Hotch like. Usually, his boss was so put together and in control of his emotions that his voice never wavered; but he could hear the uncertainty and slight worry in the message, and he wondered how he hadn't picked up on Aaron's true feelings for him before now.

He was supposed to be a genius, after all. He should have seen it.

Although, to be fair, he hadn't been looking for any signs of affection from Aaron, hidden or otherwise. He'd had no reason in the world to believe that Hotch would ever feel anything romantic for him at all.

The man wasn't gay.

Or, he hadn't _been_ gay...or he'd hidden it really well...or something.

Hell, maybe he'd just been blind to it all like he'd been blind to the kind of man Parker Simmons truly was.

None of that mattered anymore, though. What mattered was the fact that he knew how Hotch felt about him now, and he wholeheartedly reciprocated those feelings. And although it didn't feel quite right for him to start something with Aaron at the present moment, there was no doubt in his mind or his heart that eventually it would.

He knew their time was coming.

He just wondered how quickly it would arrive.

.


	16. Monday

Chapter Sixteen

Monday

.

The next morning, Spencer woke up to the smell of coffee wafting into his room and the sound of running water coming from, he assumed, the bathroom across the hall. Begrudgingly, he cracked his eyes open and groaned as he reached for his phone, the action stirring to life all his aches and pains.

His body was stiff and sore, and he'd barely even moved yet.

Of course, that could be the very reason for all of the discomfort: immobility during sleep.

It made sense, unfortunately.

As his eyes adjusted to their open state, he could tell by the light seeping in through the window that it was early—very early. Tapping the screen on his cell, he looked at the display and let out another groan as his suspicions were confirmed.

It was 6:15 am.

It was Monday.

It was the first day he was going to have to be alone.

Hotch and Jack were most likely already up and getting ready to start their day, which explained the coffee and the running water.

If this had been any other day—a nice, normal day—he would be preparing to leave as well. He'd be getting ready to go into the office and see his team, then start working on the stack of reports he knew would be sitting in his inbox just waiting for him, and maybe they'd even head out of town on a new case.

Not that he ever hoped for anyone to be murdered, but that was what they did.

Unfortunately, this wasn't like any other day, and it certainly wasn't normal.

Hotch and Jack were going to leave soon and he would be stuck in an empty house all by himself; a house he wasn't very familiar with, to be honest, and he had no clue how he was going to react to the situation. His stomach churned at the thought and he returned his phone to the table as he slowly and painfully crawled his way out of bed, leaving Spike the stegosaurus safely lying next to his pillow.

When he opened his door he squinted at the blinding bright light that greeted him on the other side. He was half tempted to just shut the thing and go back to bed, but he wanted to see Hotch and Jack off for the day.

And there was coffee.

He couldn't really go back to sleep if coffee was in the air, so instead he held onto the wall to steady himself until his vision cleared and adjusted, then padded out into the hallway. That's when he realized that every single light on the second floor appeared to be on, and he groaned for the third time since he'd woken up.

It was entirely too early for so much _bright._

He gave himself a minute to acclimate to his surroundings and then made his way across the hall to the bathroom, where Jack was vigorously brushing his teeth. The door sat wide open, so he stood over the threshold as their eyes met through their mirrored reflections.

The boy smiled merrily back at him before spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste in the sink and yelling, "Hi, Spencer!"

He tried his best not to cringe at the sheer volume of Jack's enthusiastic yet painful greeting and just gave him a tiny wave, blinking away sleep as he leaned up against the door frame and let out a massive yawn.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"Yeah," he nodded, his voice hoarse and his throat sore, "But just ah, whenever you're done is fine."

"Oh, I'm done!" Jack quickly wiped at his mouth with the hand towel and then replaced it on the vanity as he moved past him and out of the bathroom, "It's all yours. I gotta get dressed anyway."

He watched the boy leave, then shut the door and quickly relieved himself before washing his hands. When he glanced back up into the mirror, he winced at the sight. He was much closer to his reflection now, and it seemed like everything was in startling high definition. He hardly even recognized the person staring back at him; it felt like a mere echo of his former self. The person he saw in the mirror wasn't Dr. Spencer Reid, it was some broken, bruised, and exhausted shell.

The saddest part about it, though, was that he actually thought he looked somewhat better than he had on Saturday night. The bruising to his jaw was lighter; there was still a dark purple area, but the edges and the middle were turning yellow. His neck didn't look much better; the skin still shadowed similarly by dark patches. The steri-strips that held the laceration on his temple together were a bit worse for wear, but he didn't think it was a good idea to remove them just yet. The cut was already likely to scar; he needed to leave it alone and hope the tape held on just a bit longer to minimize the risk. Amazingly, the dark circles under his eyes had actually lessened some, making him appear not quite so tired, although he still felt drained. He had almost no energy—probably due in part to all the effort it took for his body to heal itself. He brought his uninjured hand up to rub at his chin, feeling the itchy stubble that accompanied three days without shaving. He looked ragged and unkempt; and it was frighteningly reminiscent of when he'd been rather fascinated with the yeti.

Maybe he'd try to do something about that today...he'd certainly have the time.

He leaned down and splashed some water on his face, the cold snapping him into a more awake state, then brushed his teeth and braved the stairs in search of caffeine.

When he entered the kitchen, Hotch was sitting at the table with his briefcase open in front of him. It looked like he was carefully examining a file as he sipped on his morning coffee.

He didn't know if he should interrupt the man.

This was exactly how Spencer was used to seeing him: crisp white button down shirt, red tie, dark gray suit, Submariner watch, hair neatly combed back with just a hint of gel to keep it in place, clean shaven—SSA Aaron Hotchner all the way. The sight of the man was enough to intimidate the deadliest of unsubs and knock any woman off her feet...several men, too.

Probably.

He for one had always adored seeing Hotch in a suit, and he remained on the outskirts of the room, quirking a brow as he let himself appreciate the view.

Aaron must have noticed eyes on him, though, because a few moments later he looked up from his papers and met his gaze.

"Morning, Reid," he greeted with a subtle nod.

He cleared his throat, standing up a little straighter and schooling his expression, trying to pretend like he hadn't just been checking his boss out.

"Ah, morning..."

"Did we wake you?"

"No, the smell of coffee woke me," he groused, but gave Hotch a small grin as he moved further into the kitchen, his sights set on the coffee pot and his strides guarded.

Aaron rose from his seat and moved to stand next to him, placing his cup in the sink as Reid carefully poured his own. He never realized how much more difficult everything was when you could only used one hand. Even the simple act of getting a cup of coffee took much more effort than it should. He didn't realize he'd been grimacing until Aaron spoke again.

"Is the pain that bad?"

"Oh, um...yeah, I guess..." He could feel worried eyes on him and glanced up at Hotch for a moment before grabbing the sugar and dumping a generous portion into his coffee. He'd really tried to hide his discomfort from the other man. "It seems to be the worst in the mornings," he clarified, "It's difficult to get going after being in bed all night. Everything's a bit sore and stiff."

"Well, that's understandable. Here," Aaron opened the bottle of ibuprofen sitting on the counter and pulled one out, then did the same with the antibiotic and the iron, and Reid dutifully opened his hand to take them, "I want you to try and keep on a schedule today so it doesn't get too bad. Take another dose every four hours, Reid."

"You take such good care of me, Aaron Hotchner," he mumbled into his mug, hiding a shy grin. He couldn't help the flutter in his stomach when he saw Hotch give him _the look_ in return. It was the same look Aaron had given him the previous night, when he'd told him he was worth waiting for, and it had left him with butterflies then, too. "I'll um, try to remember," he added with a blush.

Aaron looked at his watch, "I drop Jack off at Jessica's at 7:15 and she takes him to school."

Humming in understanding, he moved to sit at the table as he continued to listen.

"The school lets out at 3:30, and he takes the bus back to her house. She'll keep him until I get off work."

"I can watch him," he excitedly started, grasping at any excuse to spend less time alone, "It's really no problem—"

"No, Reid," Hotch stopped him, "You need to concentrate on resting right now. The most important thing for you to do is heal, and you can't do that if your chasing after a nine year old ball of energy."

His face fell, but he nodded in agreement. Perhaps Hotch was right about needing to rest; after all, he was already exhausted and he'd only been up for half an hour. He loved spending time with Jack, but the kid did have a seemingly abundant and unending supply of energy that he didn't think he could match at the moment. He really didn't know if he could match it on his best days.

As if on cue, the boy ran into the room and flung his bag over the back of one of the dining room chairs.

"I'm ready, Dad!" he loudly proclaimed as he opened the pantry door and grabbed a package of pop tarts.

The kid seemed to only have one volume in the mornings.

Loud.

"You're not gonna eat that for breakfast, are you?" Reid asked. The question gained him a ludicrous look from Hotch, to which he simply replied, perplexed, "What?"

"Surely you're joking." Aaron raised his brows, "Aren't you the one who's known to eat pop tarts for dinner while we're on cases?"

"Uh...sometimes..." he confessed, biting his lip. He thought about it for a moment, frowning, "Wait a second...how do you even know about that?" Normally, he only ate them in the privacy of his hotel room. And he usually only roomed with one particular profiler. Narrowing his eyes, he questioned, "Did Morgan tell you? He did, didn't he?"

"I'm just good at my job," came the smug reply.

"What ever happened to no profiling of team members?" he smirked, then leaned down to Jack's level, the boy watching their banter with immense interest, "Hey, Jack, can I have one?"

"Uh huh!" he laughed and handed one of the pastries to him while Hotch leaned against the counter, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes at the both of them.

"Okay, okay, get your things," Aaron laughed, "You can eat it in the car on the way."

"Bye, Spencer!" Jack giggled, throwing his arms around Reid's neck and pulling him into a tight hug.

He loved how affectionate Jack was being with him, even though it did strike him as a bit odd considering his history with kids.

But odd or not, he could definitely get used to it.

"Bye, Jackie," he pulled away and ruffled the boy's hair, then realized his slip of the tongue and tried to quickly correct it, "S-Sorry. I mean, _Jack._ "

"No," Jack excitedly countered, shaking his head, "I think I like it. It's kinda like Jackie Chan!"

"Yeah, um, I guess so."

He hadn't really thought about the name when he'd said it; it'd just kind of came out in a comfortable flow of words.

"Dad just calls me Jack and that's _boring._ But Jackie Chan's not boring!"

"No," Reid laughed, "He's definitely not, and neither are you."

That's when Hotch jumped into the conversation, trying to feign feeling hurt as he playfully defended, "Hey now, you two...Jack's a great name. And I don't just call you that. Sometimes I call you buddy."

Jack gave his dad a sheepish smile, then looked back to Reid, his expression growing serious, "But if you have a special name for me then I think I should have one for you, too."

"Oh, no, you can just call me Spencer," he shrugged, "I mean, that's, um, you know, what everyone else calls me."

He momentarily felt himself space out as he thought about the validity of that statement. It wasn't really true—or, it hadn't been true. That wasn't what everyone always called him, but his two favorite nick names sounded absolutely vile to his ears now. He couldn't even bear to hear them anymore. Apparently they were _triggers._

He had triggers now.

He was one of those people that could be thrown into horrific flashbacks by the simple utterance of one tiny little word or phrase. He felt a hand on his arm and flinched away ever so slightly before realizing it was only Hotch.

"You can call me Spencer or, um," he paused, meeting Aaron's gaze and noting the pained expression on the man's face before turning back to Jack, "Or Reid. Reid would be fine, too."

"I'll call you Spencer, but I'm gonna think of something better. I promise!"

"Okay, _Jackie_ ," he ruffled the boy's hair one more time, trying to act as normal as possible, "You do that, and I'll look forward to hearing what you come up with."

Hotch grabbed his briefcase and Jack threw his backpack over his shoulder, then the Hotchner men moved toward the front door. Reid followed to make sure the door was locked behind them, and he could sense himself tensing up, body trembling a little bit more with every step that brought them closer to leaving.

Anxious.

He was definitely anxious, and nervous.

Terrified might be a better description.

He kind of wanted to scream it all out, but obviously that wouldn't help matters any. He might feel better by releasing the pent up energy, but Hotch definitely wouldn't. The man had already looked at him like he was crazy more times over the weekend than he'd care to admit.

Right before Aaron walked through the open door, he turned back to him, hesitantly bringing a hand up to curve around the nape of Reid's neck. A thumb gently stroked the skin just behind his ear, and he leaned into the touch as it sent a warm shiver down his spine. It was tender and soft and grounding; and it helped to ease his anxiety, just a little. Last night Aaron's close proximity had put him on edge, but this morning it was a welcome comfort that soothed his nerves.

He desperately wanted the man to stay.

"Remember, I can have someone come over and keep you company if you feel like you need it," Hotch's voice was a low rumble, his breath ghosting over Reid's skin as their eyes locked together.

"I know," he replied, voice just as low, throat constricting.

"Don't forget your pills. Remember, every four hours. I don't want you in any more pain than you have to be." Spencer gave him a nod and a small smile at the concern, then listened as he went on, reluctance in his tone, "I'll...I'll call you at lunch to see how you're feeling. And, please, know you can call me if you need anything. Anything at all."

The only thing he wanted or needed right now was standing in front of him, about to walk out the door and leave him all alone.

His heart ached at the thought.

He wanted to tell Aaron that, and then maybe run his fingers through his dark hair, soft and thick and inviting in that moment. He wanted to wrap his arms around the man's neck, breathe in the scent that was a perfect balance of Aaron's signature cologne and his natural musk, rich and heady. He wanted to feel those strong arms circle around his waist and pull him in close, surrounding him, protecting him, keeping him safe from all the traitorous ghosts and echoes that were haunting his mind.

At some point he must have lost track of time because before he knew it Hotch was giving him another look. A look that said _I'm afraid to leave you because I think you're about to completely lose it_.

Maybe he was.

Maybe he could use that to his advantage.

Perhaps if Aaron thought he was freaking out he'd stay with him.

He shook his head and mentally scolded himself for even thinking something like that as he blinked back into the present moment.

He gave Hotch a shaky smile and a nod, "Pills. Every four hours. Got it."

"Spencer, remember I'm only—"

"I know," he interrupted with a tiny laugh. He brought his own hand up, letting his palm rest on Aaron's chest, over his heart like he'd done the day before. The beat was steady and strong, calming beneath his touch, and his smile grew. "I know, Aaron," he whispered, "You're just one call away."

* * *

Hotch walked into the bullpen, poured himself a cup of coffee from the kitchenette and moved up the stairs to his office, noting that he was the first person to arrive at the BAU.

That was nothing unusual.

Being the Unit Chief required him to arrive earlier that most of the other agents, and he actually enjoyed being there before everyone else. It gave him time to ease into the day before he truly had to put on the stoic SSA Hotchner facade he'd become so accustomed to wearing.

He definitely needed the extra time this morning.

The weekend had been draining to say the least, and he was still reeling a little from everything that had happened. He needed to decompress, and arriving before everyone else allowed him the time required to do so.

Getting there early also gave him time to deal with any lingering issues he may have unknowingly brought with him from home before they became a problem. He needed a clear head when he was at work; the job was just too dangerous otherwise.

He unlocked the door to his office and slipped inside, setting his briefcase on the desk and falling into his chair with a tired huff. He'd spent the entire drive over wanting nothing more than to turn around and go right back home, right back to Reid.

The way the younger man had looked at him made his heart ache, and he'd absolutely hated leaving him in the house all alone.

Spencer was still hurt, and he was physically unable to do certain things on his own because of his injuries. Also, he'd been sporadically zoning out over the last day, suddenly going quiet and still. He seemed withdrawn.

That all lead Aaron to believe that Reid might be having more flashbacks than he was letting on about. And then this morning, when he'd left, Spencer seemed extremely nervous and anxious—maybe even fearful.

That didn't sit well with him.

He knew Reid was suffering from PTSD; they'd already established that. He had all the symptoms—reliving the trauma, seeing his attacker, nightmares, paranoia, triggers, jumpiness. It was all expected, and it was all painfully textbook. For once in Dr. Spencer Reid's extraordinary life, he was ordinary. He fell into the norm.

Too bad it had to be for something so atrocious.

He startled when he heard a rapping on his door, and as he looked up Rossi's head popped into his office.

"Is this a good time, Aaron?"

He must have gotten lost in his thoughts, because people were starting to arrive.

"Sure, Dave. Come on in."

He watched as the Italian entered, sauntering up to his desk with all the suave and swagger he was known for and taking a seat in the chair positioned directly in front. He had that look about him, the look that told Hotch something was obviously on his mind and he wanted to talk about it; and when Rossi wanted to talk about something, there was no getting out of it.

Reluctantly, he asked, "Did you need something, Dave?"

"How's the kid doing?"

That was a loaded question if he'd ever heard one, and he wasn't entirely sure how to answer. Spencer wasn't good, exactly, or even fine if he wanted to get technical; but he was certainly trying to work through his issues.

"He's...coping."

Rossi sighed, leaning back and crossing his legs as he steepled his fingers, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. Then he just stared back at him, that look still plastered on his face that said _there's more to this story that you aren't saying_ as he silently urged him to continue.

And so he added, "He's doing okay."

"He didn't look like he was doing okay yesterday," Dave countered, his voice taking on an edge of seriousness, "In fact, Aaron, if you ask me he looked like he needed to be in a hospital."

"What?" he snapped, glaring at the older man, "Are you trying to suggest that he needs to be _committed?_ "

He could feel anger rising up in his chest, his throat tightening with it as he tried to keep his voice level. There was no way Reid would willingly agree to admit himself into a mental facility, and there was no fucking way in hell Hotch would allow him to be forced. Not unless or until Spencer became a threat to himself or others—and currently, he wasn't.

"That would destroy him, Dave, and you know it."

"Calm down, Aaron." Rossi put his hands up in a placating manner, "That's not what I'm saying here, okay? But I _do_ think he may need to be evaluated by a professional. He's clearly got acute PTSD, and not a mild form of it from what I saw yesterday. He was a complete mess and he wasn't in control of his mind, Aaron. He would benefit from talking to someone."

"You and I both know he could talk circles around anyone we sent him to," he muttered.

Dave did have a point, though; if Spencer agreed to talk to someone—actually talk and open up about what he was going through—it would certainly do him some good. The Bureau would make him talk to a psychologist before returning to work anyway, but it would be beneficial to have more than one single session. Of course, he also knew the likelihood of Reid agreeing to that was slim to none; Spencer was hardly even talking to him about what had happened. The odds that the younger man would lay his feelings out for a stranger was almost laughable.

He looked back to Dave, "I'll mention it to him."

That seemed to be enough to appease Rossi, at least for the time being, and the man nodded in his direction. Unfortunately, though, he didn't get up. He remained firmly planted in the chair with that _there's_ _more to the story_ look on his face, and Hotch knew they were going to have another conversation before he left.

"Did you need something else, Dave?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee and trying his damnedest not to sound too put off by Rossi's lingering presence.

The older man narrowed his eyes and studied him for a moment. "So..." he asked, "What's going on with you two, anyway?"

He took a sharp inhale at the same time that he'd tried to swallow, and ended up almost choking on his coffee.

Where the hell had _that_ question come from? And why did it have to come from David Rossi of all people? Why did it always seem like Dave was the one to figure things out? Why did he always see things he shouldn't see?

Had there even been anything _to_ see?

.

" _Shhh, Spencer stop fighting me. Please, baby, you have to calm down."_

" _Aaron, maybe we should call for an ambulance."_

" _No, Dave. Just give him a minute to come around. He—He's gonna be fine. He's calming down. It'll be okay now."_

" _You're gonna be okay. Please, Spencer, show me that you're okay. Come back to me."_

" _Aaron? Is it r-really you? Are you really h-here?"_

" _Yeah, baby, it's really me. It's Aaron. I'm right here and I've got you."_

.

Well, okay, there had been _that._

Seeing Spencer huddled against the wall in that horror of a bedroom, a look of sheer terror on his face and completely unaware of his surroundings, had broken something inside him. He remembered letting his emotions have free rein over his words and his actions when he'd fallen down and cradled the trembling body in his arms.

Obviously, he hadn't been thinking very clearly himself. He'd been completely focused on Spencer and trying to get him back from wherever his mind had trapped him that he'd forgotten anyone else was even around. That was, until he'd heard Rossi's voice, and by then he honestly didn't care who saw him. The only thing he'd cared about in that moment was Reid and bringing him back.

He met Dave's gaze, fully set on denying what the older man was implying, "It's not what you think."

"Oh, no?" Dave asked, annoying bushy eyebrows creeping up to his hairline, "Because I've seen the way you look at him, Aaron...even _before_ this whole mess started. And I've also seen the way he looks at you, when you're _not_ looking at him. Good god, you two have been pining over each other for years! I'm surprised you haven't caught him giving you moon eyes. It's nauseating..."

"Moon eyes?"

"Oh come on," Dave huffed, "I know you've stared into those big doe eyes of his. Hell, I've stared a time or two. And I've come to realize that they're full of adoration...for _you._ "

He'd stared into those eyes, that's for sure. He'd gotten lost in them over and over again. They were absolutely gorgeous; big, beautiful hazel that held so much depth and passion and knowledge it could hardly be contained. He loved looking into Spencer's eyes and seeing all the beauty within, except now they also held something else.

Something more.

A darkness.

They were haunted by all the ghosts and demons and echoes of his past—brought back to agonizing light by the recent events.

"So," Rossi continued, drawing him back from his thoughts, "What are you doing with him, Aaron?"

" _Doing_ with him?" He was a little taken aback by the question. All he was doing was helping Reid, but Rossi was making it sound like there was something more sinister going on. "Are you suggesting I'm doing something inappropriate with him?"

"Well, are you?" he bluntly asked.

"No!" he yelled, anger simmering back up, burning in his chest, "I'm helping him, Dave. That's it."

"Is it? I saw how you were with him yesterday in that room; how you held him and talked to him. What I witnessed between the two of you was more than simply a friend or coworker comforting another. It wasn't platonic, Aaron, so don't try to pretend that it was. It was something much more. I'd even dare to call it _love."_ Rossi paused, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a long, heavy sigh, "But he's extremely vulnerable right now, and he's definitely not thinking clearly, so you're gonna have to do that for him. You need to think clearly here."

"I _am_ thinking clearly, and nothing's happened between us. I would never take advantage of Reid like that. Think about it, Dave!" he jumped out of his chair, slamming his fist against the desk as his rage boiled over, "He's been taken advantage of by a monster for almost an entire fucking year! He was manipulated, lied to, beaten, _raped!_ Do you honestly think I would do the same thing to him?!"

He could feel tears stinging his eyes, threatening to give away his pain at the mere suggestion. An image flashed in his mind; his hands gripping tight to Spencer's arms while wide, hazel eyes looked back at him in fear. It made him sick, and his anger rapidly faded only to be replaced by despair.

"I would _never_ hurt him," he vowed, "All I want to do is help him heal, help him get better. And besides, not that it's any of your business, but Reid knows exactly how I feel about him. He figured it out all on his own."

"Smart kid."

"Yes, he is," Aaron agreed, his voice lower and less agitated as he thought of his conversation with Spencer the night before. He stared Rossi down, narrowing his eyes and giving the man another glare, "And he's a hell of a lot stronger than you're giving him credit for. He realizes he has issues to work through; he told me as much. And you wanna know what else he told me, Dave?"

Rossi just raised those annoying eyebrows again and silently waited for him to continue.

"He confessed to reciprocating my feelings, but that starting something between us doesn't feel right to him at the moment. So, he's thinking a lot clearer that you seem to believe."

"Okay," Dave raised his hands again, this time in a show of surrender, "I just felt like it was my duty to say something. This team is like a family to me, and I care about all of you. I just hope you know what you're doing. Having the kid stay with you when you both so obviously care for one another may not be the best idea."

"Spencer's exactly where he needs to be," he adamantly replied, a now familiar and protective growl rumbling in his chest.

The safest place for Reid to be was with _him_ , in _his_ house, where _he_ could keep a close eye on him. He didn't trust anyone else to do the job—to take care of him properly. As long as Spencer was under his roof Aaron could make sure his physical injuries were healing, he could ensure that he ate and bathed and took joy in his day to day activities, and he could easily observe him for signs of a worsening physical or mental condition. Spencer needed to stay right where he was, and Aaron was slowly coming to realize that he needed the exact same thing.

"It's the safest place for him right now," he continued, "And honestly, I think it's been good for him to be around Jack."

"Oh?" Dave's voice lilted in surprise.

"Yeah, I think they're good for each other," he nodded, "Jack's taken a real shine to him, and Reid gets this joyful sparkle in his eyes whenever they're together. It reminds me of how he used to be, before Simmons or Cyrus or Hankel. I know it's only been two days, but they already seem quite close."

"Well, miracles never cease," Rossi chuckled, heaving himself up off the chair with a groan. He gave Hotch one last glower, "Just be careful with him, Aaron. Tread lightly," then moved to the door. As he stepped out onto the landing, he turned and added, "And for what it's worth, when the time _does_ feel right for the both of you, I think you're gonna be perfect for each other."

He smiled at that, feeling all the tension and anger in his body dissipate as he sat back down at his desk. A part of him wanted to remain furious at Rossi for questioning his morals—for even daring to imply that he'd ever do anything to harm Reid, the night before notwithstanding—but another part of him honestly appreciated the fact that the other man cared enough for Spencer and himself to broach the subject. It had to have taken a lot of courage, but then, David Rossi was never one to shy away from a difficult situation.

After he calmed down and refilled his coffee he spent the remainder of the morning tied to his desk filling out reports and fielding questions about Reid from every other member of the team. They'd all stopped in at some point during the morning to ask how their youngest member was feeling, and no one else questioned why Spencer was staying with him or if it was a good idea, for which he was grateful. Garcia had even dropped off another batch of brownies she'd made, and he'd happily and enthusiastically accepted them. Quite possibly the only good thing about Penelope Garcia being stressed out was that it usually resulted in lots and lots of baked goods.

When the clock struck twelve and it was finally time for lunch he found himself almost desperately longing to hear Reid's voice, to make sure he was doing okay. He'd been worried about the younger man ever since he'd left the house, but he'd resisted the urge to call before now. He knew he needed to give Spencer some time and space to acclimate to being along in his new surroundings; and that wouldn't happen if he was calling every five minutes the check in on him.

With an anxious and giddy flutter of his heart that made him feel more like a love-sick high school student rather than the stern leader of an elite BAU team, he picked up his cell.

Then, taking a deep breath, he dialed Spencer Reid's phone number from memory and waited for it to ring.

.


	17. Eventually

Chapter Seventeen

Eventually

.

Once Hotch and Jack were out the door, Spencer locked it and moved over to the window, pulling the curtain back to watch as they got in the car. He stayed there until they'd pulled away and driven out of sight, then let out a long sigh as he glanced up and down the street. He needed to make sure there were no suspicious vehicles or questionable people lurking around the neighborhood.

Or around the house for that matter.

He didn't really know why, exactly, he just knew that he needed to do it. It made him feel better; calmer, less agitated.

Once his mind had given him the all clear, he shut the curtain and turned back to look around the room. It was so quiet without anyone else there; and it felt a little odd to be by himself in a house that wasn't his own. It seemed a bit like trespassing to him, although he knew Aaron was aware of his presence.

Obviously.

Still, the feeling was peculiar, and he had no idea what he should do next. He had hours of solitude ahead of him, and he needed to fill that time doing _something._

The task seemed quite daunting.

He felt lost.

Moving slowly back to the dining room table, he sat down and grabbed his cup, smiling when he saw the book about dinosaurs Jack had been looking at the morning before. It seemed like decent reading material, so as he finished his coffee and nibbled on the pop tart he thumbed through the pages, committing any new information he learned about the Spinosaurus to memory.

Unfortunately he didn't end up eating much of the pastry, and he felt a tad guilty for taking it from Jack. He was still anxious and queasy about being left alone, though, and that feeling had decided to manifest itself in a depressed appetite.

He did finish two more cups of coffee, however, and when he was done, he got to work unwrapping his arm and removing the splint to examine it. The swelling had gone down significantly and the bruising around his wrist was more of a dark yellowish brown instead of the black and purple, but he could still very easily make out the shape of fingers as they'd clutched tightly around him.

He fought a shiver at the thought, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to ground himself as a cold voice tried to whisper in his ear. He could feel things lurking around inside his head—ghosts and echoes, demons—skirting the periphery of his mind, threatening to invade.

He took several more deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth, as he fought away the memories wanting to rip him apart; and soon, thankfully, the voice faded away and the clawing thoughts disappeared.

He'd remained aware and in control, and he was grateful he hadn't fallen into a flashback.

That really didn't need to happen while he was alone, if ever, so when he reopened his eyes he chose not to look back down to his arm.

There was no sense in tempting fate.

But it had definitely looked better, and he hoped he wouldn't have to keep it immobilized for much longer. He really didn't enjoy the confining nature of the splint. Everything was ten times more difficult to do with it on, and the thought of being rid of it had him smiling just a little as he carefully stood from the table.

He grabbed the bandage, placed his coffee cup in the sink and headed slowly up the stairs toward the bathroom for a shower, and if he could possibly manage it, a shave.

And as it turned out, he _had_ managed it, doing a fairly decent job of it as well. He'd only nicked himself twice, which was quite an accomplishment considering he'd had to do it left-handed.

He'd also showered easily enough, and found he didn't need to scrub quite so hard in order to feel clean, which gave him a semblance of normalcy and some much needed emotional relief. He was finally to a point where he wasn't feeling Parker all over his skin all the time, and that alone made it a little easier for him to breathe.

After drying off, wrapping a towel around his waist and moving into the guest room, he searched through the mess of clothes piled in boxes for something to wear. He could have just thrown on another baggy t-shirt and some comfortable pants and called it good, but that was pretty much the only thing he'd been wearing all weekend. Everything had either been pajamas or close to it since Saturday morning, and even if he stayed inside the house the entire day he wanted to wear something that fit more into the realm of _real clothes_.

He ended up picking a pair of brown cords, a blue button up and a gray cardigan. His socks were a mismatched pair, one purple with little whales all over and one red and brown striped. When the ensemble was complete he looked in the full length mirror hanging inside the guest room closet and took a deep breath.

He still had the bruising and cuts across his face, and his hair was wet and stringy, sticking to his head, but with his clothes he looked and felt more like himself than he had in a while.

Months, probably.

He smiled back at his reflection, then turned his attention to his arm as he sat on the edge of the bed.

The splinting and re-wrapping didn't go quite as smoothly for him as everything else had, not that he'd expected it to. It was the first time he'd tried to do it himself, and it paled in comparison to how Hotch did it. But then, Hotch wasn't there to help him, so his sad attempt was going to have to do, at least until the other man came home. Which would probably be sometime after six.

He looked at the clock on his phone and frowned.

It was only 9:00 am.

He still had about nine hours to figure out what to do with, and after coffee, showering, shaving and getting himself dressed he was kind of at a loss.

He knew he didn't want to remain idle, though; definitely not.

He couldn't afford it.

He still had this tiny inkling of a feeling...an uneasiness in the back of his mind and in the pit of his stomach that kept tugging at him, nagging him. Someone was following him, watching his every move—lurking in the shadows just like his demons, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. It was an irrational fear, and one that he kept trying to push away, but it always resurfaced.

He didn't know why.

It was foolish and absurd.

It was crazy.

But if he had something to do—something to keep his mind occupied—then those feelings didn't manifest themselves quite so often.

He needed to stay busy.

He could read, but then, nothing in his vast library struck him as particularly interesting at the moment. Of course, he had every book he'd ever read stored inside his head, but his head was currently a jumbled mess—a minefield—and he didn't think he should be poking around.

Besides, there were times when he enjoyed reading from the page, even if he had all the words memorized. There was just something very calming to him about holding a physical book in his hands; about smelling the pages and hearing the spine bend, tracing the words with his fingers and his eyes, feeling the comforting weight of it in his hold. He couldn't explain it, the soothing nature of it, but every so often he just liked to indulge in the simple act of actually reading a book.

There'd been several books in Aaron's office that he'd taken note of the night before, but he didn't want to go rummaging through them without asking for permission first. He wanted to respect the man's privacy.

He could also write to his mom. It'd been a few days since he'd written her a letter, and he knew she'd start to worry if she didn't hear from him soon. The last one he'd mailed had been sent the day before they'd left on their last case.

The case that had ended badly.

Then, Saturday morning happened, and his whole world crashed and burned around him. He'd been unable to do much of anything after that.

Usually, though, he tried to write to her every day while he was home, so she'd definitely be expecting to hear from him soon.

He glanced quickly around the room, noting how cluttered the space was with all the boxes and bags littered across the floor. That was another thing that really needed to get done; he needed to sort through all of his things and unpack—find new places for everything within the confines of Aaron's guest bedroom.

This was his new home, after all, no matter how temporary.

So that's what he did.

He went downstairs and made another pot of coffee, then he spent the remainder of the morning writing to his mother and sifting through all of his worldly possessions.

In his letter he talked briefly about the last case they'd worked, without going into great detail on what had transpired. He did tell her it had ended badly and blamed the outcome as the reason he hadn't written to her. It was a cop out, but he couldn't tell her the true reason she hadn't received a letter from him. There were just some things a mother didn't need to know about, and the fact that her son had been raped by his live-in boyfriend was definitely one of them. Besides, telling her wouldn't do anyone any good. The only thing it would do was cause her pain, and that was the last thing in the world he wanted.

She didn't need to know.

He ended the letter with a small ramble about an article he was gathering research for, and then wrapped it up, promising to write again tomorrow.

After the letter was signed and placed in an envelope he began tackling the room. He sat down on the floor, trying his best to ignore the dull ache throbbing its way through his backside as he started pulling things out of boxes.

There were clothes and posters and figurines.

More books, a few decks of playing cards and the portable chess set he'd always played on at the park or in the jet with Gideon—before the man had left the BAU.

One box held an array of old photos from his childhood all the way up through last Christmas when he'd gone to Chicago with Morgan.

He'd even found several old pairs of glasses that he'd packed away because he hadn't needed them anymore—a couple years before, he'd splurged on LASIK and never looked back.

Some of the things he found had been boxed up long before he'd moved in with Parker, and seeing it all now was sort of like opening a time capsule.

He rather enjoyed it, and he was meticulous while putting everything away. Hotch had told him to make the room his own, so he even went so far as to hang up a few of his posters on the walls; and when he was finally done the space did seem a little bit more like home to him.

The closet was full of his clothes and the few pairs of shoes he owned; some of his books were neatly displayed along one side of the window seat with many more stashed in the drawers below it; the dresser held his pajamas, socks and boxers; and a large periodic table and a picture of the TARDIS adorned two adjacent walls. The few CDs he owned, mostly classical, were stacked on the nightstand by his phone. There were some surprising albums he'd hidden between Mozart, Beethoven and Chopin, though—Coldplay, Aerosmith and The Cure to name a few. He wondered what Aaron would think about his wide range of musical tastes if he ever saw them. Most people were taken aback when they realized he listened to rock, and their reactions were quite amusing.

It had taken him a while to get everything situated, but not because he really had a lot of stuff. It took longer than necessary because he'd had to do it all one-handed, and judging by the position of the sun shining in through the window he surmised that it was late morning.

And he was absolutely, utterly and painfully exhausted.

His bones ached with it.

He'd never been big on napping during the day, but right now he was basking in the mere idea of doing exactly that, so he crawled onto the bed and laid atop the covers, letting his sore body sink into the mattress.

He picked his phone up off the bedside table and glanced at the display.

11:15 am.

Hotch had mentioned something about calling him at lunch to see how he was, so he figured he could rest until then and Aaron's phone call would serve as an alarm to wake him up.

That sounded like as good a plan as any, and he gave it no further thought.

He was drifting to sleep the moment his eyes closed.

* * *

Spencer jolted awake to the blaring sound of his phone screeching in his ear, and he shot up in the bed, startled by the sudden noise. He groaned at the ache the action cause, pain instantly ricocheting through his body, making him lightheaded. Something wet dripped down his chin and he wiped it off, determining very quickly that he'd been drooling.

His pillow was covered in it.

He had no idea how long he'd been out.

Blinking away sleep, he rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision as he blindly grabbed for his cell and answered, voice thick and groggy.

"Um, h-hello?"

" _Reid?"_ Aaron's voice filled his ear and he was instantly more alert and coherent, a smiled creeping across his face _, "Did I wake you?"_

"Hey, Hotch. Um, yeah...s-sorry." He coughed to clear his throat, briefly pulling the phone away from his head to see the time before replacing it, "I, ah, dozed off a little while ago. About an hour?"

He wasn't sure why he'd phrased it as a question. He still felt a little out of it, his body heavy and fuzzy with lingering exhaustion.

" _I'm sorry, Spencer. I'll let you go so you can get back to sleep. I just wanted to call and see how you were feeling."_

"No, no it's okay," he quickly answered, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He didn't want Aaron to let him go. This was the first human interaction he'd had in hours, and he wished he could talk with him all day. "Really, I'm getting up. Um, how's your day going?"

" _Good. Everyone's asked about you. They all send their love,"_ Hotch relayed, _"And Garcia made another batch of brownies for me to bring home."_

His ears perked up at the mention of brownies, and that's when he realized he'd hardly eaten anything. The few bites of pop tart from the morning hadn't been nearly enough food, and he felt like he should eat something, even if he wasn't all that hungry.

"Tell everyone I miss them," he replied, moving down the stairs and into the kitchen.

He was grateful that the trek up and down was growing easier for him since he'd found himself needing to make the journey quite frequently.

He opened the freezer, and when he spied a hot pocket he smiled, snatching it up and popping it into the microwave. He moved toward the living room window while he waited for it to cook.

"And um, tell them thank you again, for yesterday. I really appreciate everything they did," he hesitated, slowly pulling the curtain back and examining the street as he added, "I wish I hadn't freaked out while I was there, though."

" _I'll tell them. And don't worry about what happened yesterday, Spencer; it's in the past. Let's just look to the future now, okay? A fresh start."_

"Mhm," he absentmindedly answered as he carefully examined a maroon Accord driving down the road.

Accords were okay. He wasn't looking for Accords.

Although, that one in particular seemed to be moving a little too slow for his comfort.

" _How's your day?"_

"Hm?" his eyes darted back up and down the street, looking at every single car parked along the curb and in the neighboring driveways, making sure there were no red Civics to be seen. He watched as a man and his little toy poodle walked down the sidewalk; and he noted an electric van parked down the road by one of the poles.

" _Your day, Reid..."_ Hotch reiterated, his voice laced with concern, _"How are you doing?"_

"Oh, ah, f-fine. I'm okay." He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, forcing himself to step away from the window and shut the curtain, "I got all my things unpacked and put away in the guest room. Um, and I wrote to my mom."

" _That's good. I can drop the letter in the mail on my way to the office tomorrow if you'd like. I'm sure she'll be glad to hear from you."_

"Yeah, I'm sure..." he mumbled.

He couldn't shake his paranoia that there was someone outside. He hadn't seen anything suspicious, but he could have easily missed something.

" _Spencer, are you alright?"_ Aaron's voice was steady but he could hear the strain in it, _"You sound a little off. Is something wrong?"_

He didn't know if he should tell Hotch how he was feeling, to be honest. The last time he'd said anything to him Aaron had just chalked it up to post-traumatic stress; and that was probably what it was this time, too. His mind was just playing tricks on him—making him paranoid.

Who would possibly be stalking him?

"I just, um—" he started, then stopped and sighed, deciding to fully disclose his fears, "I still think someone's outside. I feel like someone's watching me, Hotch. I know I'm just being paranoid, but I can't shake it."

" _It'll pass, Reid,"_ he soothed, and there was no judgment in his tone, _"This is just part of the process. Like I said, it's gonna take some time to get over everything that happened to you."_

"No, I know," he agreed, worrying his lip between his teeth, "I understand that, I do. I just wish I was already done with the process."

" _I do, too,"_ Hotch breathed, _"And I wish there was something more I could do to help you through this."_

"Can you give me the code to the gun safe?" he blurted instantly, frantic, then tried to calm his tone, "I mean, just in case?"

He hated asking; it felt like he was giving into his fears. But what harm could it do to at least have the combination? After all, _his_ gun was inside; if he wanted it he should be able to have access to it.

" _Reid, I don't know—"_

"You don't trust me?"

When Hotch answered him he could hear sadness in his voice, and pain, and it made him wish he hadn't interrupted the man.

He didn't want to upset him.

He didn't want to disappoint him.

" _Spencer, of course I trust you, and I have no problem with you having the code."_

"But?"

He could sense a _but_ coming.

There was a small, tired, unamused laugh on the other end of the line, _"But having your gun out may not be the best thing for you right now. You seem a little...for lack of a better word, jumpy."_

"Oh, so you trust me but you're afraid I'm gonna shoot the mailman or something?" he asked, irritation and anger starting to bubble up inside his chest, "Is that it?"

" _Spencer..."_

"Look, Hotch, I won't get it out, okay? But I'd like to at least know that if another crazy sociopath barges in here and tries to fucking attack me I can get to my goddamn service weapon and defend myself!"

As soon as the words left his mouth he knew how biting and hateful they were. They'd just come out in a seething rage, and he hadn't been able to stop them. He'd let his anxiety get the better of him, and he was lashing out at the last person in the world who deserved it.

He was mad.

He was furious.

He was so fucking angry he shook with it.

But not at Aaron.

No, he was infuriated with himself. He should've had his revolver inside the house with him on Saturday morning instead of uselessly locked away in the trunk of his damn car. Maybe if he'd had the gun nearby that day things would have turned out differently.

So much differently.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I didn't mean to snap at you, I just—I really don't wanna be caught unarmed again."

" _Okay,"_ Hotch softly replied. He'd remained quiet on the line, letting Reid voice his frustrations without interruption. _"The safe's in the master closet and the combination's..."_ he faltered for a moment, _"The combination is 10-28-81."_

His brows furrowed as he registered the numbers. "That's—That's my birthday."

" _Yes, I know. That's kind of why I picked it."_

He could feel his cheeks heating up, and he had no idea what to say. Hotch just kept surprising him, it seemed.

" _Did I leave you speechless, Dr. Reid?"_ Aaron joked, and Spencer detected the hint of a nervous tremor in his voice.

"Ah, maybe? A little?"

He sat down on the couch and let out a huff as he thought about the significance of Hotch using _his_ birthday as a combination. Usually things like that were of great significance to the person, that's why they were chosen. And that's also why they, as profilers, were able to figure out codes used by unsubs. Haley's birthday was the code for the home security system, and his was the code for the gun safe.

Those numbers were both important to Aaron Hotchner.

Ergo _he_ was important to Aaron.

He bit at his lip to stifle a giddy giggle, grinning to himself at the very idea.

" _Reid,"_ Hotch asked, _"You do remember our conversation from last night, don't you? I kind of let you know then that I care a great deal for you. I hope you're not over there silently freaking out."_

He'd obviously been quiet for too long, so he blurted, "Oh, no! No, I'm not freaking! It's ah, it's fine. It's...good, even?"

Smooth.

Way to sound inappropriately eager.

Which he wasn't.

He knew he wasn't ready to begin any kind of physical relationship with Aaron. Really. It would just be too soon...

He shook his head again and tried to change the direction of his thoughts, moving away from the physical relationship he wasn't ready to have with his boss and over to what he was going to do for the rest of the day. He had no more plans, but he knew he needed to keep himself busy, and thinking about him and Aaron together wasn't a viable option...for many reasons.

"Is it okay if maybe I, ah..." he hesitated, "I mean, would you mind too much if I took a look at some of your books? In the office?"

" _Of course, you don't even have to ask,"_ Aaron instantly replied, his voice warm, soft and welcoming, _"You can go in and get a book whenever you'd like."_

That made his heart flutter.

"Okay. I just wanted to make sure I asked before I barged into your private space."

" _Well, now you know that I have no problem with you barging into my private space."_

There was a brief pause, and Aaron's voice became muffled, like he was talking to someone else.

While he waited for him to return, Reid's mind took the opportunity to wander to an entirely different _private space_ that he was pretty sure Hotch hadn't meant, and he blushed again.

" _There's not a lot of variety, though,"_ Aaron continued a moment later, _"It's mostly just law and criminology books."_

"I figured as much," he quipped, "But it'll still give me something to do. I just need to pass the time."

" _Okay. I have to go now, but I'm glad we got to talk. And although I'm happy you've unpacked your things remember to take it easy. I think you've done enough for one day and I want you to rest. Jack and I will see you this evening."_

"Okay," he smiled, more heat creeping into his cheeks. He wasn't even in the same room with Hotch, but the man could still make him blush with the things he said. It felt nice to be cared for— _really_ cared for, and protected. Not for show, or as a form of manipulation, or a way to get something in return; but because someone truly wanted to keep him safe. He sensed that Aaron's concern for his well being was genuine, and it made him immensely happy. "I'm really looking forward to seeing you, Aaron."

" _Me, too,"_ there was a smile in Aaron's voice, _"Goodbye, Spencer."_

"Bye."

After he hung up he ate as much of his lunch as he could, which was about half, then headed toward Aaron's office. He looked around as he entered the space, taking everything in a little more thoroughly than he had the night before. It seemed very Hotch-like, formal and professional with the wood paneling and the ornate desk, and the wing back chairs. However, there was an underlying warmth and comfortableness to it that showed through in some of the details he hadn't noticed before. There were framed pictures of family scattered across the bookshelves, in strategically placed open areas, and artwork hung from the walls—very clearly a child's renderings. He also noted several framed cross-stitches like the ones on the wall by the stairs.

It was homey.

He moved up to one of the shelves and began skimming through the spines, reading the titles. He picked several books on law and walked over to Aaron's desk to set the stack down. That's when he saw other pictures he hadn't seen before because he'd been on the wrong side.

There were photos displayed across the desk, facing toward Aaron's chair so he'd be able to see them while he worked. A smiling Jack—maybe two or three years old—sat on Haley's lap in one, and Jack was alone building a sand castle on a beach somewhere in another.

A very young Aaron and Haley posing in a formal wedding portrait stared back at him through another frame; and they both looked so happy that it made his heart ache at the memory of her loss. Even though she and Hotch hadn't been together in the end, it was clear Aaron had still loved her very much. After all, she was his high school sweetheart, his first love and the mother of his child.

His eyes continued to scan the photos, landing on one of the entire team gathered together in the bullpen, smiling and hanging all over each other. Morgan's arm was draped around his neck and Garcia was crouched down in front of the group, her arms stretched out wide with a huge smile spanning her bright red lips. JJ was standing on his other side, her head resting on his shoulder, and Emily stood beside Morgan. Rossi and Hotch flanked the group. They all looked so happy...even Aaron was donning a half smile.

But when he came to the last picture on the desk he could have sworn he felt his heart stop for just a moment.

It was a photo of him.

 _Only_ him.

He remembered when it'd been taken. He'd met JJ at a little coffee shop next to her house, and they were sitting at a table on the outdoor patio. He'd brought a book with him, and his head was bowed as he read through it, the sun shining down at just the right angle to make it look like there was a halo of light around him. At the time, he hadn't even known she'd taken it, and he definitely had no idea how Hotch had gotten a copy. There were no other solo pictures of any of the team in the office at all, and the fact that Aaron had the photo sitting on his desk gave him butterflies in his stomach and made his heart swell.

He could feel his lips curving up into a grin.

He'd been doing that a lot over the last two days—smiling—at least, compared to before. He was actually happy for the first time in a long time, and it felt nice.

Different.

He could definitely get used to the feeling.

After giving one last look toward the pictures, he turned back to the bookshelves and picked a few more before heading down into the living room. He sat the books on the end table and went to the kitchen for a pain pill and more coffee, then spent the remainder of the afternoon camped out on the couch as he poured over Aaron's books and lost himself in a world of information.

* * *

When Spencer heard keys jingling in the door he startled, glancing up from the book he was reading and looking toward the cable box. He was surprised to realize it was already 6:30, and he'd been sitting in the same spot without really moving for the last six hours. He'd completely lost track of time, and that had to be Hotch and Jack.

Hotch and Jack were home.

His eyes frantically scanned the area, completely mortified at what he saw. He was surrounded by heavy law books, an empty coffee cup and the remains of the hot pocket he'd nibbled on for lunch. The place was a mess and he looked like a total slob sitting right in the middle of it. There was no way he could let Aaron see him like this, let alone see his house in such disarray.

Quickly, and without thinking, he tried to scramble up and clean the table off before the door opened, but his body had other plans and rebelled at his fast and jerky movements. The constant ache he always felt began to throb deep down inside, and he hissed at the increased pain, stumbling over his feet and falling back down to the couch just as father and son entered the house.

Aaron was at his side in a heartbeat, severe concern etched on his face.

"Spencer, are you alright?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he opened his eyes at the contact, not even realizing he'd shut them, then looked up into Aaron's worried gaze.

A moment later he registered another pair of eyes timidly examining him out of his periphery, and he instantly threw his hand out toward Jack, wanting to put the boy's mind at ease before he said or did anything else.

"Jackie, come here." He turned toward Jack, his heart breaking a little at the fear he saw on the boy's face. He did his best to give him a small, if not altogether painless smile, and tried to reassure him that everything was alright, "I'm fine, Jack. I promise. Will you please come here?" Slowly Jack moved up to stand next to him, and he pulled the boy into a gentle hug as his eyes drifted back up to Aaron's. "I promise you, I'm okay," he repeated, addressing them both that time, "I just wasn't thinking and I tried to get up too fast."

Jack pulled away slightly and stared at him for a minute, examining his face, then looked at the couch and the table, his brows creeping up to his hairline. "Wow," he turned back to Reid, smiling brightly, "You made a big mess!"

"Ah, yeah...I guess I did. That's why I was hurrying to get up," he gave Aaron an apologetic smile, "I was trying to clean. I lost track of time and had no idea how late it was."

"It's not a problem, Reid," Hotch assured, then mimicked his son, looking around the area. At least he was doing a better job of hiding his surprise at the mess. "I see you found a few books," he grunted playfully, "Did you leave any in the office?"

He frowned at that. Was Aaron giving him a hard time? He was worried about looking like a slob, and Hotch and Jack just thought it was funny.

"Ha ha," he grumbled, "I'm so glad I can amuse you."

Aaron gave him one more smile, then looked to Jack, "Go put your things away, buddy, then get started on your homework. I'll heat up some dinner." After the boy was out of earshot he turned back to Reid, "Do you need something for the pain?"

"I guess it probably wouldn't hurt," he confessed.

It had been almost six hours, and he was still amazed at how fast the time had gone by after Aaron's phone call. He was kind of grateful that it had, but he also knew something like that wouldn't last. He'd run out of books to lose himself in soon enough, and then the time would start to creep by again.

"I don't know how I'm gonna get through two whole weeks of this, Hotch. I almost went crazy today. Or, you know, I almost went _more_ crazy."

"Spencer, you're not crazy," Aaron countered, "Unfortunately feeling a little paranoid and jumpy is to be expected after what you went through. It was a major trauma. You're dealing."

He gave him a nod in agreement. Aaron was right. He knew what he was feeling was normal, he just didn't like it; and he didn't know how to handle it. This was a totally different experience than he'd had after Georgia. Tobias had held him captive for two days, drugging and torturing him, but in some ways that didn't seem nearly as bad as what Parker had done to him.

Parker had made him love him before he'd tried to destroy him.

The man had held him captive in a totally different way; he'd used his insecurities against him, and sadly that had been enough to keep him a prisoner in their relationship for almost an entire year. Then there was what Parker had done to him on Saturday.

He still had a hard time even thinking the word.

 _Rape._

He'd been raped and beaten, and then made to feel like it was his own fault. Parker was good at things like that...manipulation and coercion. And the revelation that his ex was keeping drugs hidden away inside the house still had him absolutely reeling. There were so many things that could have happened, so many horrible things the man could have done to him, and the thought that Parker may have been planning to use Dilaudid on him gave him chills.

He snapped back into the present when Jack reentered the room, carrying a folder and a notebook as he made his way to the dining room table to begin working on his homework.

"Why don't we get you up off the couch and get some medicine and food in you? Sound good?"

He looked up at Hotch and took the proffered hand, thankful for the help up. There was a gentle but constant pressure on his lower back as they moved to the table, and he found himself pressing into the touch. Aaron's contact was much more comforting to him than he'd expected it to be, even from the very beginning of this whole mess. Usually victims of sexual assault had a difficult time with touch afterwards, but he didn't seem to have that problem; at least, not to a large degree. He'd had his moments where Aaron's closeness left him feeling uneasy, but for the most part he found himself searching it out more than running away from it.

He wondered if it was really okay for a rape victim to find comfort in someone else's touch. If it wasn't okay, then that was just another way he was broken. Maybe he wasn't working the way he was supposed to anymore.

Maybe he was short-circuiting.

When they reached the table the hand on his back left and he sunk down into the seat next to Jack, glancing at what he was working on.

Math.

He liked math, and he could use it as a distraction.

A much needed distraction.

"You know, Jack, if you ever need any help with your homework I'd be more than happy to give you a hand."

"Really?"

"Definitely," he hummed, then looked up to Aaron when the man handed him two pills and a glass of water. He recognized them easily, one was for pain and the other was an antibiotic. Quickly, he swallowed the pills and then added, "I loved school, and I always thought homework was fun."

"You're kinda weird," the boy laughed.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," he smiled.

"So..."

Jack and Reid stopped their conversation and turned to look at Hotch, who was staring into the refrigerator.

"More casserole?" the man asked, holding up another precooked concoction of Garcia's, "It says it's tuna _something._ I can hardly ever read her bubbly handwriting."

"It sounds great," Spencer answered, "But I do hope we have a survival plan in place for when we run out of casseroles."

There was a tiny giggle from Jack and then all three of them burst out laughing, and the rest of the evening was low key and lighthearted. Hotch finished heating up dinner while Spencer and Jack worked on several math problems that were giving the boy trouble, then they ate while Reid listened intently to Aaron tell him all about his day and how much the team had missed him.

He tried to eat a bit more than he would have liked to because he'd hardly eaten during the day. He knew his body needed the calories to heal and fight off any possible infections, and he also knew it would make Hotch happy to see him eating.

He wanted to make Aaron happy.

After dinner Jack took a bath and got ready for bed, then Spencer read a little more of _The Lord of the Rings_ to him before he slipped out of the boy's room, easing the door shut behind him with a soft click.

"You know, he really loves having you here."

He startled as Hotch's unexpected voice filled the hallway, then turned to see the man leaning up against the door frame that led to the master bedroom. He'd never actually seen inside Aaron's bedroom, and a part of him wanted to take a peek.

He was curious, but he wasn't entirely sure why.

Not entirely.

Slowly he edged his way over, smiling, "Well I ah, kinda love being here."

"I hope so," Aaron murmured, their eyes meeting, locking together, "I know today was difficult for you, Reid, but you did so well. Being here all alone wasn't easy, but you made it."

"I was a bit of a mess for a while there, Hotch; and I spent a lot of the time just...kind of...out of it—"

His protests were halted by a gentle finger meeting his lips. The touch surprised him, and his breath stilled as his body involuntarily tensed; but he didn't flinch away. Instead, he continued to stare into Aaron's eyes, waiting for him to speak.

"It doesn't matter if you were a mess, Spencer," he whispered, taking a step closer to him, "The only thing that matters is that you got through it."

The finger on his mouth lifted and the breath he'd been holding escaped in a shudder. His heart thundered and warmth curled around in his stomach. He could feel the heat of Aaron's body radiating onto his skin, hear the rumble of something deep in the man's chest. He felt himself take a step closer without even thinking about it, and his feet didn't stop until they were within inches of one another.

He didn't know what they were doing, and he didn't know if he wanted whatever it was to continue or to stop.

A hand came up and gently wound into his hair. Fingers curved around the nape of his neck, sending goosebumps blossoming across his skin. He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. He could feel hot breath against his face, and he knew Aaron's mouth was close to his.

So very close.

He was afraid if he opened his eyes he might just push forward and lose himself in Aaron's soft lips, his strong arms, his warm chest. He imagined Hotch pulling him impossibly close and claiming his mouth with his own, running those hands along his skin.

He could actually feel fingers exploring him everywhere, inside and out, and he sensed something hard pressing firm and hot against his hip.

They were so close, so close, so close...

.

 _Hips rocked roughly against him._

 _He could feel the hard line of Parker's very prominent arousal pushing into his groin._

 _Lips crashed into his and he startled, gasping from the shock._

 _He couldn't breathe._

 _Everything was too close, too hard, too much._

 _Parker's scent was all over him, surrounding him, overwhelming him._

 _Cinnamon and coffee and sweat._

 _A tongue thrust into his mouth, reaching as far inside as possible—he choked on it._

 _Teeth collided violently with his—he could taste copper._

 _Parker moaned into his mouth—he swallowed it._

 _A hand roamed down over his chest and abdomen._

 _Nails scraped against the fabric of his shirt._

 _Fingers dipped under his boxers, firmly circling around him._

 _They began to stroke._

.

A whimper escaped as he gasped for breath. The hand caressing his neck quickly vanished and he opened his eyes just in time to see Hotch take a step away from him.

And then another.

He looked up and saw a mixture of attentive concern and heavy guilt painted all over Aaron's face. The man was obviously beating himself up for what had just happened, Spencer could tell.

"Don't," he scolded, "Don't blame yourself for this, Aaron."

"I threw you into a flashback, Reid. I never should have gotten that close to you. I wasn't thinking, I was just..." he trailed off, running hands through his hair and sighing, "I'm sorry, I just wasn't thinking."

"It's really not your fault," he tried again, his body starting to relax.

His chest wasn't so tight and he could breathe much easier now that he knew exactly where he was and who he was with. Considering how he usually reacted during a flashback, this had been rather tame in comparison. He moved closer, noting the irony of how quickly Hotch tensed up at his advance.

"It's my fault," he mumbled, a tiny, shy smile beginning to curve his lips, "You see, I let myself get carried away inside my head and ended up thinking about things I probably shouldn't have been thinking about." When Aaron just gave him a confused and self-deprecating look as a reply he tried to clarify, "Um, I was ah, th-thinking...about you...and about me. I was thinking about us. You know, um, together..."

His eyes darted up to Hotch's and he saw the beginnings of a grin forming that had his insides turning to mush.

"Please, Hotch, just know that...um," he stopped again, thinking about what he should say; about what would or wouldn't be appropriate in their current situation. Finally, he just decided to go for it, throwing caution to the wind and grabbing Aaron's hand as he blurted, "I want to be with you, Aaron. I mean, _eventually._ Or, um, hopefully?" He furrowed his brows, "That is, you know, if I'm not completely screwed up. I just need a little more time...I think."

Their fingers thread together, interlocking, and he looked down at the connection and smiled. This was all so new to him, foreign and exciting and a bit frightening, and it was most definitely something he'd never expected to actually happen.

Even if they'd discovered their feelings for one another through some nice, normal circumstance, he still thought he'd be a complete and utter wreck. But somehow, even though he felt totally clueless, Aaron made him feel safe and accepted at the same time.

And very wanted.

If he could find just one bright spot in the events that had led them to this single moment in time, it would be that this whole ordeal had shown him just how much Aaron truly cared for him. It had opened his eyes to the possibility of having a real future with the man he'd loved in secret for years.

When he heard Hotch's voice fill the air, a velvet purr that made him weak in the knees, he looked up from their joined hands and met beautiful chocolate brown eyes.

"I'll take eventually, Spencer," Aaron softly murmured, his thumb rubbing sweet circles along the skin of Reid's palm, "I'm absolutely ecstatic with eventually."

.


	18. Not Again

_Please heed the warnings and read with caution.  
_

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

Not Again

.

They got into a routine the following few days, the three of them, together. Spencer liked having a routine; it gave him something to hold onto. He knew what to expect if everything was planned out in advance, at least for the most part. If there were no real surprises during the day then the likelihood of him being caught off guard or unaware diminished greatly. That was a comforting thought, and he clung to it whenever he felt anxious.

He never wanted to be caught off guard again.

Hotch was usually the first one up in the mornings, and he'd quickly get in the shower, waking Reid soon after with the sound of running water and the buzz of an electric razor.

Once Spencer finally crawled out of bed and finished his own bathroom ritual of relieving himself, brushing his teeth and splashing cold water over his face to shock his system into some semblance of wakefulness, he'd get Jack up while Aaron started preparing breakfast. Cereal was a safe bet during the week, or instant oatmeal—something simple and quick.

Jack was pretty self-sufficient when it came to getting himself dressed and gathering up his school supplies, and then they'd all convene around the table to eat.

That was probably the most difficult time of the day for him—sitting there knowing he only had a few precious minutes of companionship remaining before the other two headed out and left him all alone.

It was inevitable.

And when the moment came, it was normal for Jack to tell him goodbye with a great big hug that he did his best to return with just as much exuberance. Aaron, however, was a little more subdued in his affections, usually opting for a soft, timid brush of fingertips along Reid's arm or the back of his neck in parting.

It was enough for now.

After that, father and son would be out the door no later than 7:05 to arrive at Jessica's by 7:15. It was a soothing ritual that helped ground him and prepare him for the solitude that made up the rest of his day.

Once he locked the front door he'd move to the window and watch as the SUV drove away, carrying with it what felt like his family. He didn't know exactly when Aaron and Jack started to feel like family to him, but they had, and now they were two of the most important people in his life.

After they'd driven out of his sight, he would glance up and down the street for just a minute, always on the look out for anything suspicious as he fought off the tiny stirring of fear growing in the pit of his stomach.

The fear that something or someone was outside.

The fear that made itself known every morning.

It was part of the routine, after all.

When he'd determined that everything was okay outside, he'd turn his attention to the kitchen, spending some time tidying up from breakfast. Hotch always told him he didn't need to, but it made him feel useful so he did it anyway.

It was the least he could do, really, after everything Aaron had done for him.

With the kitchen clean, he'd head back up the stairs to remove the bandage from his wrist, take a shower and change his clothes. He'd usually spend some time afterwards fighting with himself over whether or not he should re-wrap his arm. He never wanted to, but he knew Aaron would disapprove if he chose not to—purely out of genuine concern—so he always did. He was actually getting quite good at doing it by himself.

The rest of his day mainly consisted of writing to his mother and reading, as well as cleaning up any additional messes he made along the way.

On Wednesday afternoon he'd decided to mix it up a bit and watch television during lunch, but he'd gotten sucked into some horrifying soap opera about a witch and her living doll. It had been quite disturbing, and he decided not to turn the TV on again after that.

At least not during the day.

Jack would always take the bus to Jessica's after school, and Hotch would pick him up on his way home from the office. While Aaron made dinner, Spencer would help with any homework needs, and then the three of them would eat and listen to the boy's enthusiastic retelling of his day. After they finished, Jack would go play for a bit while Spencer helped clear the table and clean the dishes; although again, Aaron really didn't let him do a whole lot. As long as he was around the other man, though, he didn't much care if he was being coddled just a little.

It was kind of sweet, actually.

Soon, the two would move into the living room and curl up on the couch, usually facing one another, and he'd continue to listen as Aaron told him all about the team and the BAU and anything of significance that had happened during his medical leave. Apparently there'd been a lot less goofing off in the bullpen between Morgan and Prentiss since he'd been gone; they'd actually had to do all their reports on their own.

He felt a little sorry for them.

Sometimes, during their talks their hands would gravitate toward each other, fingers threading together; and the intimacy of the contact made him feel light and airy, as though he didn't have a care in the world outside those four walls. He didn't want to compare Aaron to Parker in any way, shape or form, but the feeling was similar to the one he'd had when he'd first started dating the other man.

It was new, and exciting, and a bit mysterious.

But it was even better than that because he'd already known Hotch for so long. They didn't have to go through the awkward _getting to know you_ phase, so he felt much more comfortable this time.

They attempted to keep the little bit of physical contact they shared out of Jack's sight, mainly because that's what Spencer wanted to do. He didn't want to confuse him with acts of intimacy that he himself wasn't entirely sure he understood. Hotch went along with his wishes, but the man seemed much less concerned with how his son would react if he did see them holding hands.

They could revisit having a talk with Jack about their relationship if he and Aaron continued to grow closer together—which he certainly hoped would be the case. Honestly, he imagined the conversation was an inevitability since something was obviously happening between them, but he didn't want to jump the gun.

Maybe a part of him was worried about losing the close connection he had with the boy.

Right before his bedtime Jack would take a bath, then Spencer would lay down with him and read a little more from _The Lord of the Rings_. Their story time was something he'd began to look forward to a great deal because it was one of the only moments during the day where they had one on one time together, without Aaron. He was growing quite fond of Jack, a feeling that kind of threw him for a loop, and he wondered if it was merely because of who the boy's father was. However, his instincts were telling him that wasn't the case.

It was simply because he was Jack.

The feelings he had for the younger Hotchner kind of reminded him of his love for Henry in a way.

They were very similar emotions.

He hadn't seen his godson in quite a while, and his heart ached when he thought about it. He'd barely spent any time with him at all since he'd moved in with Parker; he hadn't been allowed to. He planned on remedying that now, though. As soon as he felt able he would find some time to spend with Henry. He'd make it up to him.

After Jack was asleep he'd usually go to his room and change into a comfortable pair of pants and a t-shirt, then curl back up on the couch with a book or flip through the TV channels. Hotch would sit by his side, keeping him company while also preparing the next day's reports. Wednesday evening, though, BBC America had played the first episode of Sherlock, _A Study in Pink_ , and Aaron didn't get much work done. He did, however, vow to watch the rest of the series with him, much to Spencer's delight.

About an hour later they'd both turn in for the night, he to the guest room and Aaron to his own bedroom. There was always a slight hesitation when they parted ways in the hall; a feeling of want or need or something he wasn't entirely sure of.

Something tugging at him to stay with the other man.

Desire, maybe.

Probably.

He wanted so much more than just the little touches here and there, the smiles Aaron directed his way and the shared laughter. Those things were all wonderful, but he yearned for a far more intimate connection—on all levels. He knew he was trying to rein in his feelings, and he sensed Aaron doing the exact same thing, but he wanted to tell him to stop.

He wanted to tell them _both_ to stop.

Stop holding back and just let go.

Give in to their desires.

Take what the other wanted to offer.

That's what he wanted, but he also knew that's not what he needed—at least not yet.

So instead of doing any of that, they'd say their goodnights and Hotch would take his hand, giving it a little squeeze before releasing it and moving on down the hallway.

Again, it was enough.

For now.

He'd smile as he watched Aaron shut his bedroom door, then he'd go into his own room to sleep so they could wake up and do it all over again the next day. And by Thursday morning he was feeling much better, both physically and mentally.

He'd been sleeping surprisingly well, and that morning he woke up quite refreshed. There'd been no nightmares since the one he'd had in the car on the way home from the hospital, which was rather surprising considering his history with the subject. He'd always been plagued by bad dreams, so to be free from them—especially now—was a bit odd.

He wasn't about to complain, though.

Also, he no longer woke up feeling like he'd been hit by some sort of fast moving vehicle. The swelling in his wrist was essentially gone, allowing him to move it around without a great deal of discomfort, so that morning he decided to take the bandage off for the last time. He thought he might burn it later as a kind of rite of passage. Maybe have a ceremony and everything. It would make him feel better, and Jack would probably get a kick out of it, too.

"We're out of milk," Aaron mumbled, his head stuck in the refrigerator as Spencer walked into the kitchen. He straightened back up and glanced over to him, "I'll stop on the way home and grab a few necessities we're getting low on."

"You don't need to do that, Aaron," he countered, pouring his first cup of coffee, "I can go to the store today. It's not like I have anything else to do."

Hotch gave him a wary look, his eyes traveling down to his bare arm.

"I took it off," he supplied with a shrug, answering the silent question, "I don't think I need it anymore."

"Are you sure you're ready?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, it's not swollen and the doctor said I could remove it when—"

"Not your arm, Spencer," Hotch corrected, turning to face him head on, "The store. I don't know if you should be going anywhere by yourself just yet. It doesn't feel like a good idea."

He appreciated all the concern and caring Aaron had shown him, and he was immensely grateful for it, but the man could be slightly over protective sometimes. He didn't think there was really anything to worry about...it was just a trip to the store. He was a grown man; he could go to the store by himself. It wasn't a big deal.

"I feel good," he argued, "Besides, I haven't been out of the house since Sunday. It'd be nice to get some fresh air."

"If you want fresh air why don't you just go for a walk around here? There's a nice park right down the road," Hotch debated, squaring his jaw, "Wait until I'm with you to go someplace that public and crowded."

He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. Part of him longed to do exactly what Aaron told him to do because it would make the man happy, but another part of him didn't want to give in. He wasn't a child, and he didn't want to be treated like one. Going outside—going to the supermarket—it was a simple task, and it made more sense for him to do it while Hotch was at work. He was tired of feeling like he barely contributed to the household, and this would allow him to feel useful.

"Aaron, I know I can do this." He looked to him, in all his SSA Hotchner glory, and gave him the puppy dog eyes, "Can you just...oh, I don't know...believe in me? Please?"

After a few moments of intense staring and glaring, dark eyes looking him up and down, he noticed his boss's resolve begin to falter. Aaron's stern and stoic facade cracked and his features softened, and that's when Reid knew he'd won.

"Of course I believe in you, Spencer. Don't ever doubt that." There was a heavy sigh, then Aaron's hand came up to gently stroke down his cheek, and he leaned into the touch, "Alright. If you're sure about this, then there's some emergency money in the top drawer of my dresser, in a tin. Just use that."

Aaron was already doing so much for him, the least he could do was pay for a few groceries. He shook his head, "I can pay for it—"

"Use that," Hotch strongly reiterated, cutting him off.

Reid gave him a small nod, deciding it best not to press his luck any further.

"I'm ready, Dad," Jack announced his entry into the kitchen with a smile, and the two headed for the front door.

Spencer followed quickly behind, stooping down to hug Jack before capturing Aaron's hand in his and holding firm.

"Thank you," he smiled, "I'll um, see you two tonight."

"Just, promise me you'll be careful today," Hotch murmured, face wrought with worry, "Please don't push yourself too much, Spencer."

"I'll be careful, I promise," he sighed, sharing one last glance with Jack before Aaron took his son's hand and walked toward the SUV.

He locked the door and moved over to the window, pulling the curtain back to watch them leave.

Once he'd made sure nothing strange was happening along the street he went on with his morning routine, showering and getting dressed. Since he was actually going to leave the house he put his Converse on, and as he was lacing them up he realized he hadn't worn shoes of any kind since Sunday.

Because he hadn't left the house all week.

He'd turned into a hermit. It was no wonder he was chomping at the bit to get out. He'd never been one to lock himself away for days and days on end; he enjoyed being out in the world, even if he was just going to the local park to sit and read.

Sighing, he stood and entered the kitchen, quickly popping an antibiotic—he had a few doses left—but not feeling the need for the pain medication anymore. He took the bottle and moved up the stairs to the second floor bathroom, placing it in the medicine cabinet before making his way to Aaron's room. Even though they were non-narcotic he still didn't want to take them any longer than absolutely necessary.

He really hoped he didn't regret that decision later.

Trying not to think about it, he slipped into his room and fished through his messenger bag for his keys, then made his way down the hallway to Hotch's closed bedroom door. It felt a little awkward to just waltz right inside the man's room while he was out of the house, but that's where the money was; and Hotch _did_ tell him to go get it out of his dresser. That meant Aaron had to know he'd be going into his bedroom, and the thought helped to somewhat put his mind at ease.

Slowly, he opened the door, flipped the light switch and crept inside.

When he'd stood at the threshold the night before, he'd been a little too focused on Aaron's eyes and his own fantasies to sneak a peek inside the room, but he was certainly making up for that now; and the first thing he noticed was the smell. The room smelled every bit like Aaron Hotchner, strong and brave and commanding, and he closed his eyes for just a moment, savoring the rich scent before moving further inside.

It was kind of exactly how he'd pictured it in his mind; not that he'd spent a vast amount of time contemplating the inside of Hotch's bedroom.

He'd only spent a little time, really.

The bed was neatly made, a nightstand sitting on either side, and the cream colored carpet was clean and free from clutter. There were two doors to his right; he assumed one led to the walk-in closet where the gun safe was hidden and the other probably opened up to an en suite bathroom. A window took up much of the wall to his left and the dresser was situated on the wall opposite the bed. It was neat and very orderly, save for the tiny little touches of Jack littered throughout the room.

Photos and artwork.

A few toys.

He smiled, chuckling at a drawing of what appeared to be a T-Rex chasing a group of screaming, terrified stick figure people through a desolated town.

The kid sure loved his dinosaurs.

Quickly, he walked over to the dresser and opened the top drawer, peeking in to see a tidy array of neatly folded socks, boxers and under shirts. Up against the back corner he noticed something small peeking out from under one of the t-shirts; and when he picked it up he immediately recognized it as a mint tin.

He opened it and took out the few bills that were tucked inside.

Upon further inspection, though, he realized that each bill was a hundred dollars and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline in surprise. Apparently Hotch had quite a stash of cash on hand for emergencies. There was no way he'd need all of it, so he took one of the bills and safely replaced the rest back inside the tin, returning it to it's nook and closing the dresser drawer. He spent one last minute looking around the room before reluctantly turning toward the exit and heading out.

However, as he shut the door he couldn't help but hope that wouldn't be the last time he saw the inside of Aaron's bedroom.

* * *

The trip to the nearest market went rather well, considering when he'd first gotten behind the wheel of his car he'd felt a little shaky. But after making sure the area surrounding the house appeared to be safe and secure he'd relaxed some, and the drive had held no unforeseen disasters or panic attacks. That was most likely what Hotch had been concerned about—him freaking out.

He hadn't freaked out, though. He'd managed to remain calm, and the journey had been quite pleasant.

He didn't drive that often, normally preferring to ride the subway or carpool almost everywhere he went; and when he did drive it was usually more for pleasure than anything else. Sometimes he just enjoyed getting out on the open road with no real destination in mind. It was like an adventure to him, exciting and freeing, and it helped clear his head when there were too many things clogging it up.

Too many things he was obsessing over, or worrying about.

Maybe he'd take one of those drives again soon. He certainly had a lot of things stuck in his head at the moment that he'd like to be rid of.

Before the last case, though, he'd been running late to catch the jet—Parker had taken a little longer with him than he'd _promised—_ and he hadn't even had time to call for a cab. Also, he'd wanted to get the hell out of the house as fast as possible, so he'd just driven himself to the airport.

A shiver ran down his spine at the mere thought of his ex, and he had to grip tight to the steering wheel in order to keep himself grounded—keep the icy voice at bay, stop it from invading.

He really didn't want to think about that man or that house or that part of his life ever again.

He needed to take that drive soon.

When he'd pulled into the parking lot he was pleased to see that there wasn't an exorbitant number of cars, and he breathed a sigh of relief that the store didn't appear to be very busy.

When Hotch had suggested that he wait until he could go with him he'd wanted to agree right away. The idea of being out in the open, strangers milling around him, had him feeling anxious and on edge. But he'd done his best to remain quiet about it, biting his tongue so he wouldn't give himself away.

Maybe his stubbornness had been showing through just a little, but he'd refused to give in to Aaron's protests.

This was what normal people did.

They went out in public.

They went shopping.

They went to work.

They faced strangers every single day and they were perfectly fine with it.

He used to do all those things, too.

He needed to get back to that—back to the normalcy of life.

He'd definitely remember that 9:00 am on Thursday mornings was a great time to go shopping, though. After all, there was no sense in braving hoards of people if he didn't absolutely have to.

He took one last deep breath to settle his nerves as he pulled the keys from the ignition, then stepped out of the car. When he entered the store he grabbed the nearest shopping cart he saw and headed straight for the dairy section.

They had no milk.

That was the catalyst for the entire trip so he couldn't forget it. He laughed to himself at that...as if he could ever forget _anything._

He wished he could.

Once a gallon of two percent was in the cart he moved one section over and contemplated the coffee creamers staring back at him. Aaron only had one flavor—original—and that wasn't exactly cutting it for someone who practically lived off coffee. He grabbed the cinnamon roll flavor without even thinking about it, but immediately winced at the idea of even opening the container. It used to be his favorite, and he hated the fact that the mere thought of smelling it now made him want to vomit.

He hated it, and he hated _him._

He hated Park for making him pick a new fucking flavor of coffee creamer.

Putting it back on the shelf, he begrudgingly looked around at the other available options and settled for french vanilla and hazelnut. They'd have to do for now, and they'd still be better than what he'd been using.

Hotch really did need a better selection.

They could also do with something besides Garcia's casseroles for dinner every single night. She was a wonderful cook, but there was only so much he could take. They needed a little bit of variety.

He could make something.

He had nothing else to do, and he enjoyed cooking, although he wasn't nearly as good at it as Aaron was if Sunday's breakfast was any indication. He felt so much better than he had all week, though, and he wanted to take advantage of it. He wanted to do something for Hotch and Jack to show just how much he appreciated everything they'd both done for him. They'd opened up their home and welcomed him into their lives without any hesitation whatsoever.

It was remarkable, really, especially from Jack. He was only nine years old, yet he seemed so mature for someone that young—and so caring. The boy was a perfect reflection of his father, and absolute proof of just how wonderful a dad Aaron truly was.

Thinking about the other two made his heart ache with longing to be with them, and he let his lips curve up into a huge grin. He had no idea how he must look to anyone passing him by, but he couldn't contain his happiness.

They'd all be together again soon, because Aaron and Jack would be coming home to him at the end of the day; and when they did he'd have dinner ready and waiting. He just needed to figure out what to make. It still had to be something fairly easy because, although he did feel better, he knew he wasn't one hundred percent; and it also needed to be something Jack would enjoy.

Tacos were easy, and they were a fun way for kids to show their individuality by making each one their own—putting whatever they wanted in them.

So, he'd make tacos.

Simple.

Before leaving the dairy section he grabbed some sour cream and shredded cheese, then moved through the aisles picking up the rest of the ingredients he'd need, along with a few other necessities like bread, coffee and pop tarts. He got soft and hard shells, lettuce, tomatoes, black olives and hamburger meat, then pushed his cart down the spices section in search of the last and most important ingredient—the taco seasoning. When he'd walked to the very end of the aisle and hadn't found what he was looking for he glanced back behind him thinking he'd just missed it.

The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold and he instantly froze, ice creeping through his veins, gripping tightly around his lungs, constricting them until he could hardly breathe. His heartbeat thundered loud in his ears and his body locked in place, trapping him right where he stood.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

It had to be false.

A trick.

A mirage.

His mind was deceiving him.

This couldn't possibly be happening!

As fast as his body would allow, he spun back around to face the cart, hands coming up to clutch onto the handle with such force that his arms shook and his knuckles blanched. His eyes snapped shut as he tried to still his frantic, lying mind; and his stomach plummeted to the ground at his feet.

The air around him felt heavy, cold.

His heart continued to painfully rage in his chest.

He needed to erase the image he'd just seen from his mind—the image of a man, the man he hated, the man standing right at the end of the aisle—but he couldn't. That face was seared into the back of his eyelids, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape it.

Tall, slender, sharp angles and smooth edges, shaggy brown hair...

Those eyes he knew all too well.

He could feel those eyes on him.

Really _feel_ them.

Ice blue and lit with fire as they burned a hole right through his body. An echo of an ache he'd thought was long gone throbbed deep down inside him...

.

" _I'll make you remember who you belong to, Spence." Nails scratched harshly across his scalp and his neck, then down his back, ripping the shirt he wore and tearing into his flesh. He screamed as his head was forced to the side, then that voice growled heatedly in his ear, "When I'm done with you, you're gonna feel me all the fucking time."_

.

"No no no no..." he murmured, eyes still securely closed as he tried to fight off the assaulting memories, "This—This isn't real. This isn't happening. He can't be here...it's—it's just in my head..."

.

" _No!" he wailed, hopelessness gripping him tight as his body began to convulse with fearful anticipation, "I can't do this anymore, please! Please don't—"_

 _There was a sharp thrust and then fire shot up his body as he was roughly impaled once more. His hands fisted in the sheets and he tried to scream again, but his face was immediately pushed back into the pillow, muffling the sound._

 _Each pull and push was agony, and he wanted nothing more than to escape from his hell...his reality, but Parker wouldn't allow it—he wouldn't let him have the smallest of reprieves. Instead, every time he went too quiet the man would yank on his hair or dig nails into his back, forcing him to remain acutely aware of the situation, and the horrendous pain he was in._

 _It was absolute torture, and a huge part of him started to hope that Parker would completely lose control and just fucking kill him._

 _At least that way he'd finally get some relief._

 _He was pulled from those dark and tantalizing thoughts by one particularly savage thrust that had him seeing white as a sharp and brilliant pain burned its way through his broken and battered body._

.

"Oh god!" he cried, a jolt of electricity cutting deep through his spine and down his legs.

His knees buckled and he grasped firmly to the cart in an attempt to remain upright as his heart thrashed against his ribs—it felt like the muscle was trying to abandon him, trying to leap out of his chest and run away.

He knew he was panicking, and he knew he couldn't stop it.

Fear was taking him over.

The dull ache he'd felt from before intensified, spreading from his backside to his belly, cramping up and drawing a strangled groan from his lips as tears stung his eyes.

How had Parker gotten out?!

When had it happened?!

Why the fuck had no one told him?!

All those times he'd felt like someone was watching him, it had all been true.

He'd known it was true!

Parker's house was no where near here. The man had no reason to be here. He had to be following him—stalking him.

Dammit! He fucking _knew_ it!

He could feel himself beginning to hyperventilate, he was growing dizzy with it—his head fuzzy. He needed to calm down. He needed to breathe through the pain and the panic before he passed out.

And he had to get away.

He wasn't moving, though. His feet refused to obey his command to flee and instead traitorously trapped him to the spot, hands shaking, body quivering, teeth clenching together so hard he thought they might just turn to dust in his mouth.

The cart rattled under his hold.

Then, to his abject horror, hands were on him, holding tight to his shoulders and digging nails deep into his flesh. He screamed and tried to jerk away, but he was trembling too much and he felt his feet slide out from under him.

He fell to the ground, the hands following him down.

Clutching, gnawing, groping.

Rubbing along his skin, burning their path into his flesh.

It was all happening again.

Parker was out of jail, and he'd found him.

It was all gonna happen to him again...

.

" _You did what you had to do to get through it, and you did what you had to do to survive it."_

.

Aaron's voice echoed in his mind, a siren in his sea of hazy thoughts and raging memories, telling him what he should do. He needed to do whatever he had to in order to get through what came next. He had to play his part, and while he did it he also needed to calm Parker down. He needed to say whatever the man wanted to hear, and he needed to make it believable.

Convincing.

"Park, I'm sorry. Please—" he gasped as the man above him crouched down, getting close, so close, too fucking close, "P-Please, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left—"

"You should be sorry, Spence," Parker snarled, threading fingers sharply around his hair and throwing his head into the shelving behind him. He heard a crash and his ears rang. "Do you have any idea what you've put me through? Do you, Spencer?!"

Those blue eyes narrowed in on him and he had to turn away from the gaze as he shook his head. He couldn't look at Parker.

He couldn't be here.

He couldn't do it all again.

Not again.

The hand still tangled in his hair viciously yanked on the roots, forcing his gaze forward, and he couldn't stop the whimper that escaped from the back of his throat at the pain the action caused.

"I've been through hell because of you!" Park yelled it in his face, rage and a sick kind of joy painted on the slight curve of his lips, "I fucking told you not to go anywhere, didn't I?!"

"I—I don't..."

He didn't know what to say, or if it was even possible for him to speak clearly and coherently at all in that moment. His body was shaking way too much and his mind wanted nothing more than to shut down. He hated that he was so completely terrified, so weak, so useless in the situation.

So fucking pathetic.

Why couldn't he fight back?

Why couldn't he do _something_ to protect himself?!

He could feel the corners of his eyes filling with tears he was determined to hold onto.

"I told you to stay put," Parker continued, his voice a bit calmer, "I told you to stay right there and wait for me to come home...didn't I?"

.

" _I want you to stay right here and rest now. I have to go open the store, but I'll be back this afternoon. Don't even think about going anywhere, Spence. You've been through a lot, and you need to take it easy so you can heal."_

.

That's exactly what he'd told him to do. Perhaps it would have been better if he'd listened. Suddenly his body was shoved back into the shelving unit, bring him out of his musings and sending pain coursing through his shoulders and back.

"I told you, didn't I?!"

"Yes! Y-Yes! I'm sorry!" he sobbed, the tears he'd been fighting against finally winning the useless battle, streaming down his face, "I-I'll do better. I will, I promise. I'm so sorry. Please, please just don't—just don't do—"

"What?! Don't do what, Spence? Why don't you tell me what it is I shouldn't fucking do."

"I don't know," he sniffled, "I—I..."

"Spit it out, pretty boy," Parker taunted with a growl and a grin, "Enlighten me. Are you trying to say that I shouldn't take what's mine? Is that it?"

"Park..."

"That I shouldn't take _you?_ "

"Please, don't do this..."

"Well, it doesn't work like that, baby."

Parker's voice was low and soft now, serene, and in a way that was even more disturbing than when he'd been yelling.

A controlled, quiet fury.

He looked up into crystal eyes, his fate staring right back at him, then closed his own as he let more tears fall.

Tears of surrender now.

There was nothing he could do anymore; no way to save himself, so he'd just try to escape into his mind again. Maybe it would work this time. He'd be safer there, and he could get through whatever came next.

He just needed to get through it.

"I can do whatever I want with my property," the man purred close to his ear, and he flinched at the startling proximity, "I'll punish you for leaving me, Spencer, and then maybe you'll think twice before disobeying my orders."

"No," he whispered, scrunching his eyes tighter, trying to drown everything out, "No...I'm not here...this isn't happening...this can't be happening. Not again...please, not again..."

"Oh but it is, Spence," Parker darkly chuckled, a hand slowly slinking its way down his abdomen, his muscles twitching under the sick touch, "It's all happening again...and it'll keep happening, over and over. You're mine, and you have no idea how much I've missed you." The hand ghosted over his groin and he gasped. "Oh yeah...we're gonna have so much fun together, baby. Promise."

"No no no..." he shuddered at the heated words and the fingers feeling their way over his body, settling heavy and possessive on his hip, "I'm not...I'm not yours..."

"You're always gonna be mine."

The hand in his hair vanished and then his shoulder was being squeezed, too hard, too sharp.

"If you just accept that, Spence, then I won't make it hurt so much," the voice cooed, "It's simple. Easy, even. All you have to do is tell me you're mine."

"Please, no..." he sobbed, hot breath on his neck.

"Just tell me you're mine, baby. If you don't, then I'm gonna make this agony for you..."

He was being shaken, hard, and he heard other voices start to mix with Parker's. They didn't sound right, and it confused him.

None of it was right.

Nothing.

"Calm down."

"Just lay there and be a good boy."

"No, please don't," he begged, his breath unsteady, "I'm sorry I left. I am. I—I shouldn't have. I'll be good, I will..."

"You're fine."

"You're mine."

"Open up your eyes, kid. You're safe, and nothing's gonna happen to ya."

The grip on his shoulder eased, and another hand gently began patting his arm while one more grabbed hold of his own, softly rubbing circles along the skin. The touches were soothing and gentle, and too many.

There were too many hands.

Parker wasn't alone.

He had someone else with him.

That thought sparked another bout of fearful panic deep inside him, and he tried to calm his frenzied breathing.

His body shook uncontrollably, he felt sick.

His stomach churned, bile rising, burning the back of his throat.

He didn't know what to expect next.

"Please," he hiccuped, then groaned out one last pitiful plea, hating himself as the words passed his lips, "Don't hurt me, please."

"No one's gonna hurt ya. Everything's good. Come on now, open up your eyes and look at me. Can you do that? Can you look at me?"

That voice still didn't sound right. It wasn't familiar in any way, good _or_ bad. But it was a man's voice, that much he could tell; warm and heavy, a little labored, somewhat scared.

And it was sad.

Sad, but friendly?

The thing that mattered most to him, though, was that it was definitely not Parker's voice. He didn't hear Park at all anymore.

He complied, warily looking up into the face the voice belonged to, all smooth edges and sharp angles framed by shaggy brown hair. Eerily familiar, yet completely foreign at the same time. The man's mouth was curved up into a relieved smile, nothing remotely resembling the sneer he'd been expecting to see.

However his eyes were what really caught Spencer's attention and held it.

They weren't the ice blue that always made his insides twist into agonizing knots. No...they were a deep, mossy green—or perhaps a soft emerald.

Beautiful in a different way.

The man had striking features just like Parker, but they weren't quite the same. Little things varied, like the shade of his hair and the cut of his jaw. The contrast had Spencer relaxing just a bit, and he let out a slow, steadying breath as he continued to gaze into those eyes.

"There ya go. That's good. Just take some deep breaths," the man coaxed, and he heard another voice beside him, light and timid, "Are you okay, sugar?"

Slowly, he turned toward the sound and saw a petite woman, middle-aged, with curly red hair sitting next to him on the floor, a look of deep concern drawn on her face. She was the one holding his hand, and he quickly jerked it away as he glanced around his surroundings. That's when he came fully back to his senses and realized where he was and what was going on.

He was in the grocery store. He'd come here by himself, and he'd had a flashback—or, something like it—something worse. He'd thought he saw Parker and his mind had made it all horribly real.

It had been so, so real.

A rather large crowd had gathered around him, and he immediately became hyper aware of his ridiculous position on the floor, leaning up against a shelf full of assorted cooking oils. He had to have made a huge scene, not to mention a complete fool of himself; and he felt his cheeks start to burn with the knowledge that all these people, all these strangers, had gathered around and watched him totally lose it.

"Darlin'?" the woman asked again, and he immediately looked back to her, giving her a small nod.

"I-I'm okay," he rasped, voice hoarse and throat sore, probably from screaming.

The man stood back up and held a hand out toward him, an offered assistance that he hesitantly took. When he was back on his feet, the man let go and gave him a firm yet gentle pat on the back, remaining there to make sure he was steady.

"You had us all a little worried there for a minute, kid. You sure you're okay? Do you need me to call someone to take you home or anything?"

"N-No," he shook his head, "I mean, I'm—I'm fine. I have a car."

Hotch didn't need to be bothered by this while he was at work. He didn't need to be bothered with it at all. Period. If Aaron knew what had just happened, he'd never let him leave the house by himself again.

"I don't know if it's a good idea for you to be driving in the state you're in," the man countered, a look of concern marring his stunning features.

Spencer was still a little mesmerized by just how similar this stranger looked to his ex, yet when he spoke he was very clearly nothing like Parker Simmons. It was a conundrum, a paradox that confused him.

It made him second guess his sanity.

"I'm okay now," he assured, looking back around at all the eyes still staring at him like he was some sort of a freak. Maybe he was. "Really, um...I'm sorry I caused a scene. I-I'm fine."

Slowly the other shoppers began to nod and leave the aisle, hushed murmurs filling the space as they retreated.

Talking about him.

The kind red head gave him one more look of concern, then followed the throng to continue her own shopping, leaving him alone with the enigma still standing directly in front of him.

"Take it easy, kid. You shouldn't be gettin' worked up like that, especially if you're alone. You really could've hurt yourself." The man paused, a look of uncertainty on his face before he proceeded to pull a card from his wallet, passing it over, "If you need any help or just wanna talk about what's bothering you, feel free to give me a call. You kinda look like you could use a friend."

Spencer warily took the card and glanced down at it, inwardly cringing at what he saw.

.

 _Finding Solace in the Storm_

 _Victim Support_

 _Facilitator: Carlyle Boone_

 _(540) 703-7810_

.

 _Victim Support._

He scoffed at the implication.

"Um, I don't need any...support..." he looked back up to the man, a carbon copy of his living nightmare, albeit a possibly nicer version, "And I already have a friend, _Carlyle._ "

There was a bit of a sarcastic bite to his voice when he'd said the name. He didn't know why, exactly. It wasn't like this man had done anything wrong. He wasn't the man who'd deceived him—who'd made him fall in love with him before beating and raping him. He wasn't the one who'd made him feel less than human, made him feel worthless and pathetic.

He wasn't the person haunting his mind—taunting him, teasing him relentlessly.

He was, however, the man who'd implied that he needed help, and he didn't like it. He didn't like the idea that a total stranger was able look at him, _profile_ him, and know that he was struggling. Of course, the fact that he'd been sitting on the fucking floor of the goddamn grocery store was probably what had truly given him away.

He really was going insane.

"Oh, no, please," Carlyle's face scrunched up in disgust, "Everyone just calls me Boone. Carlyle..." he shook his head, "Well, it's an unfortunate family name..."

"Boone," Reid parroted back, staring at the man, trying to figure him out, see if he was toying with him. He didn't want to trust him, this doppelganger. He didn't know if he could trust anyone who looked like that. "Look, _Boone_ ," he sighed, his voice softening as he tried to hand the card back, "I appreciate the offer, but I have someone I'm talking to. He's a very good friend."

It wasn't a complete lie. He had talked to Hotch about things.

Some things.

Maybe not as much as he should.

"Well, keep the card anyway," Boone smiled at him and took a step backwards, increasing the distance between them, "And you know, if you ever decide you do wanna talk you can always give me a call. Any time. Day or night."

.

" _Look, Reid, if you ever need anything, please know that I'm only one call away. Day or night. Even if you just need a friend to talk to."_

.

He smiled at the memory. Aaron telling him that may have very well saved his life. When he noticed Boone quirk a brow at him he quickly wiped the smile off his face, though.

"Thanks," he mumbled, stuffing the card in the back pocket of his slacks, "But I'm sure I won't be needing it."

"Okay." Boone gave him one last smile and turned to walk away, "My group meets every other Wednesday evening at seven if you ever change your mind and feel like stopping by. Most of them deal with some form of PTSD after violent trauma. And they're talkers, let me tell ya," he laughed, "But, you don't have to say anything unless you feel compelled to do so."

Without waiting for Reid to respond, the man moved down the aisle and out of sight, leaving him alone to contemplate what had just happened. He brought his hands up and rubbed them vigorously across his face, then pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down and get a grip. He couldn't believe he'd freaked out like that, falling to the floor and causing a scene, thrashing about like a loon.

His body believed it, though. The impact had riled up all of the familiar aches and pains he'd grown accustomed to, intensifying them.

He wished he had his pain pills.

So much for not needing them anymore.

He clearly needed them now, and he also needed to get out of the store and back home as soon as humanly possible.

He didn't want to be here anymore.

His eyes darted around the shelves until they spotted the taco seasoning he'd been searching for. Annoyingly, it had been almost directly front of his face. Grabbing two packets, he bolted to the nearest register to check out.

Thankfully there wasn't a line.

He paid for his groceries and exited the store relatively quickly, rushing back to his car and heading home without so much as a backwards glance.

He just needed to get to the house.

He didn't feel safe out in the open. He was exposed and vulnerable and there was no telling what could happen. That man, Boone...he hadn't been Parker...but he could have been.

Who's to say the next man wouldn't be?

He'd already thought someone was watching him, following him, stalking him.

What if they still were?

What if the next time this happened he wasn't so lucky?

No, he just needed to get home, where everything was safe and secure and protected.

Where everything was okay.

Once he got home, he'd be okay.

.


	19. Nightmare Scenario

_There's some major violence and talk of a very disturbing nature ahead. Things get extremely dark in this chapter, so read with care._

 _Also, this is the last super rough chapter for a while. There will still be bumps in Spencer's road to recovery, but he's definitely beginning to heal._

 _TW: murder, talk of violence against children and possible suicidal ideation._

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

Nightmare Scenario

.

After Spencer returned to Aaron's house, he hastily put the groceries away, swallowed down a pain pill and locked himself in his room for the remainder of the day. It probably wasn't the most productive or healthy thing he could have done, but after being out in the open, exposed and vulnerable, he'd just wanted to feel the comfort of being somewhere small and secluded.

Someplace safe.

Someplace he knew well.

Someplace that held no surprises for him.

He realized how broken that made him seem, but in that moment he couldn't bring himself to care.

At all.

Maybe he _was_ broken.

It didn't matter. He was going to do whatever he had to do to get through it, and he was going to do whatever he had to do to survive it.

And in order to do that, he was going to stay in his room, where he ended up spending the majority of his time camped out on the bed with his laptop open as he surfed the web.

The first thing he did was research into Carlyle Boone and his Victim Support group, Finding Solace. It all seemed to be on the up and up. The group focused on victims of traumatic assault, but it was only a small part of a larger umbrella program that catered to helping victims of all kinds of attacks, from survivors of violent homicide to identity theft. It spanned the whole sick and assorted rainbow of horrible and noxious things people liked to do to each other, and it made him ill to know that organizations like this had to exist because people couldn't just be kind to one another.

Although, if that were the case then he'd be out of a job.

He'd be okay with that.

Boone's group met every other Wednesday evening at seven, just like the man had said, and they'd had a meeting the week before. That meant the next one would be in a week—not that he was actually planning on attending. Ever. He didn't need any more reasons to relive what had been done to him; he was doing plenty of that all on his own.

He thought about digging a little bit more into Boone's personal background and history, just to be safe, but that would require far more tech knowledge than he possessed, and he certainly didn't want to ask Garcia for help. If he involved her there would be no way he'd be able to keep it from Hotch. Aaron would demand to know who the guy was and how Spencer knew him, and he would have to explain what had happened at the store.

That wasn't a conversation he wanted to have.

Besides, he didn't plan on ever seeing the man again.

He spent some time perusing through online bookstores after that, searching for books he thought Jack might enjoy reading with him once they finished with _The Lord of the Rings_. He picked several that he'd enjoyed as a kid and wanted to share with the boy, and he'd even found a few that had piqued his own interests.

Once he was happy with his selections and finished placing his order, he shut the laptop and pulled out a notebook and pen from the bedside table to start writing to his mother. Aaron had been kind enough to take his letters every morning, mailing them from the office for him.

For the most part he kept his conversations with her light and easy. He'd told her about staying with Aaron and Jack, but he hadn't disclosed the true reason he was there. She just thought he'd had a fight with his boyfriend and they'd broken up; then Hotch had extended an invitation for him to stay with them until he got back on his feet and found a new apartment. He'd omitted the whole part about Aaron picking him up off the bedroom floor in a bloody, incoherent mess.

Those were unnecessary details.

Her return letters held a suspicious air of hope in them, though; and it made him question whether or not she actually knew more about his feelings for his boss than she was letting on. Phrases like _if you ever even end up moving out,_ and _you must be thrilled to be there,_ and _I always did like that handsome young man_ kind of gave her away. She never said anything outright, but it seemed like she was firmly on Team Hotch, and the thought amused him greatly.

Aaron called him during lunch, as was their routine, and they talked briefly about things at the office. Then he asked him how his trip to the store had gone, to which he simply replied with a non-committal _fine_ , refusing to elaborate any further. The conversation dwindled after that, and he made some lame excuse about being tired just to get off the phone. He didn't like keeping things from Aaron, but he also didn't want him to know what had happened.

After the call ended, he went down to the kitchen to make a quick sandwich before returning upstairs, stopping in Aaron's office for some new reading material on his way back to his room. He was pleasantly surprised when he stumbled on a stash of legal thrillers tucked far into the back corner of a bookshelf. If nothing else, they'd be a great distraction. Grabbing a few notable titles by John Grisham, Marcia Clark and Michael Connelly, he moved to his room and spent a good chunk of time devouring them before his body decided to give out, bringing his exhaustion to the forefront.

Sighing, he placed the book he'd been reading down on the nightstand and set an alarm on his phone to wake him at five if he wasn't up already. That way, he'd have plenty of time to pull himself out of bed and prepare dinner before Aaron and Jack returned home.

He settled down, bringing the covers up over him and grabbing Spike. As he hugged the dinosaur close he closed his eyes, leaving the morning's terrifying events behind him as sleep gently and blessedly pulled him under.

* * *

By the time 6:30 hit, Spencer had gotten himself in order from the day and his emotions were firmly in check, although he was more than ready to see Aaron and Jack walk through the front door. Hopefully that would happen any minute, and they'd be pleasantly surprised by his culinary exploits.

The nap he'd taken, a good two and a half hours, did wonders; and he'd popped a pain pill before moving downstairs to start preparing dinner.

Everything came together perfectly for him as he'd cooked, and now it was all laid out and ready to go, the kitchen counter filled with a colorful assortment of items. There were bowls filled with shredded cheese, chopped tomatoes, sliced black olives, sour cream and shredded lettuce; and two separate containers held shells, hard corn in one and soft flour in the other. A skillet of seasoned hamburger meat simmered on the stove top, and he'd made a pitcher of strawberry lemonade that was chilling in the refrigerator.

He'd set the dining room table with festive plates he'd found in one of the cupboards, thinking they fit the Mexican theme quite well; and as he took a moment to look around at the display he sighed in accomplishment.

It really wasn't the most elaborate or impressive of meals by any stretch of the imagination, but he was still proud of himself for being able to pull it off with his lingering pain and dwindling energy reserves. He got so tired so much easier now, but he hoped the exhaustion would begin to fade over time.

He startled when he heard keys in the front door, tensing with anxious energy as he realized Aaron and Jack were home. The door opened, and two sets of footsteps made their way into the dining room just as he turned around to greet them; and the moment he laid eyes on them his nervous worry vanished. That's when he knew his entire day, with all of its trials and tribulations, had been totally worth it.

Seeing the radiant smiles on both their faces made everything he'd gone through absolutely worth it.

"Reid, did you make dinner?" Hotch had a stunned and slightly confused but happy look on his face as he walked further into the dining room, his eyes taking everything in. The corners of his mouth quirked up a moment later, and he met Reid's gaze, "Does this mean we're not eating casserole tonight?"

"AWESOME!" Spencer's reply was cut off before it even began by Jack running into the kitchen and examining the counter top with unrestrained glee. He turned back, all wide-eyed and smiling, "You made tacos! I love tacos! This is the best day ever!"

Reid smiled and bit his lip to keep from laughing as he hesitantly looked back to Aaron for approval; and Hotch simply nodded his head in happy agreement.

"Well then," he bent down to Jack's level, mimicking the boy's merriment, "The sooner you go wash your hands, the sooner we can eat!"

"Okay!"

While Jack ran to the bathroom, Aaron walked up to him and took his hand, holding it tight, "You didn't have to do all this, you know. It looks like it was a lot of work—"

"But I wanted to, Aaron, for you and Ja—"

"You didn't have to do this, _but_ ," Hotch interrupted, squeezing Spencer's hand a little to quiet him, "I'm so grateful you did. I was going a little crazy with all the casseroles."

"Don't let Garcia hear you say that," he joked, and they shared a laugh at the thought. When they'd quieted, he bowed his head, nervously tapping his feet and fidgeting where he stood. "Um, Hotch? I was wondering something..." he mumbled, looking up at the other man. He didn't know if he should even bring up the subject, but the question had been nagging at him since the morning and he wasn't sure he'd be able to relax until he knew the answer. When Aaron just stared back at him expectantly he continued, tripping over his words, "Is ah, is Park...um, P-Parker, I mean...is, is he still in jail?"

Aaron's answer would help him determine whether the man who'd been haunting his thoughts was just a figment of his damaged mind or a real person. If Parker wasn't in jail, then the odds that his ex was truly stalking him went up significantly.

"Yes, he is," Hotch quickly answered, the joyful look fading from his face as he held tighter to Reid's hand, "I haven't been told otherwise, and I have Garcia keeping tabs on his proceedings. As far as I know nothing's happened yet."

"Oh. Okay." He gave him a nod as he visibly deflated, the tension in his body slowly dissipating. He was apparently just crazy, then; which he supposed was better than having a stalker. Maybe. "That's, um, good. Thanks."

"Why, Reid?" Aaron asked, his expression grim.

"Oh, you know, it's really nothing," he quickly replied, shaking the question off with a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders, "I was just curious, that's all."

Hotch looked like he wanted to say something more, but Jack came running back in right at that moment and Spencer quickly pulled his hand away. He was grateful for the timing, and he used the boy's arrival to escape any further questioning.

"Alright, go ahead and grab your plate and start assembling your tacos," he instructed, letting Jack go first and signaling for Hotch to follow.

He got in line last and watched with avid amusement as Jack used the well known flinging method to construct his tacos. It made for a bit of a mess, but Reid couldn't bring himself to get on to him for it—he just looked like he was having too much fun—and the sight took his mind off his worries.

When Hotch tried to stop Jack, he put a gentle hand on the man's back to halt the reprimand.

"It's okay, Aaron," he whispered from behind, "Let him be. I mean, just look at how much fun he's having."

"Yeah, his fun is gonna be my clean up later."

Aaron glanced back to Spencer, giving him a wink and a grin to let him know he was joking.

"I'll help you clean," he smiled, but Hotch vehemently shook his head.

"No way. You cooked, so the only thing you'll be doing after dinner is relaxing on the couch while I clean up. Understood?"

"Yeah," he smirked, his chest swelling with warmth, "But only if you insist."

"Oh, I do."

Once their plates were full they moved to the table and Reid sat the pitcher of lemonade in the center. As they ate, they listened to Jack regale them with exciting tales from fourth grade lunch and recess.

It was quite the story.

Apparently Inara really likes Malcolm—like, _like_ likes him—but Kaylee has a thing for him too, Simon tripped over a railroad tie and broke his arm, and Jayne puked in Zoe's hair. It had been an exciting day for the kid, and he'd told the story with fervent passion.

Spencer honestly couldn't remember if he'd ever had a day that eventful while he'd been in school...the football field notwithstanding. He didn't like to think about that event, for obvious reasons.

There were several _events_ in his past he didn't like to think about now.

After Jack finished his story, Aaron picked up the conversation, talking about his day as well. It hadn't been nearly as enthralling, but Spencer tried to listen just as intently. The team had been rather busy with custodial interviews and mountains of paperwork—something Morgan and Prentiss were still not happy about. Reid was definitely a little envious, though. He would have loved to get his hands on a nice, thick stack of reports just to have something to do, something to keep him occupied, help pass the time.

The idea sounded like bliss.

Thankfully, the team hadn't gotten called away on a case since he'd been on leave because if they did, he didn't know what he would do. If Aaron had to go out of town that would mean he'd have to be alone all that time, and that was something he wasn't sure he could handle...especially after what had happened to him earlier. If he couldn't even go out and do the simplest of tasks, he wasn't going to be able to take care of himself for days and days on end.

For that reason, he hoped the team would remain local until he was at least back on active duty, but he also knew that wasn't highly probable.

It wasn't unheard of, but it wasn't likely either. The BAU always seemed to be needed somewhere.

"How was your day, Reid?"

He glanced up at Hotch, bringing himself out of his thoughts.

"Oh, ah, it was fine..." his eyes dropped down to his plate as he picked absentmindedly at the remains of his taco, the majority of it uneaten. He didn't want to talk about his day, he just wanted to hear about theirs. "Nothing of great importance happened," he sighed, "You know, just the usual I guess."

He wasn't even contemplating telling Aaron about his little freak out at the store. Although, that was pretty much the only thing he could think about. That, and his ever growing paranoia. He felt like he was losing his mind, slipping away like his mother.

He really needed to get a fucking grip.

"Are you feeling alright?" Aaron pressed, "You made this wonderful dinner, and you've hardly eaten any of it."

Bringing his gaze back to Aaron, he tried his best to keep the anxiety out of his voice, "I'm fine, really. I'm just not very hungry." He turned his attention toward Jack, desperately wanting to change the subject, "So, how'd I do with the tacos, Jackie?"

"They're great, Penny!"

That was new, and he gave the boy a quizzical look at the name.

Hotch did the same, quirking a brow, "Penny?"

"Yeah," Jack answered with a grin, "I said I was gonna figure out a special name for Spencer. Remember?"

They both gave him a nod and quietly waited for the elaboration that was sure to come.

"Well, I went to the library at school today and read this book," the boy started, his eyes sparkling and arms flailing excitedly as words began pouring out of his mouth, "It was a book about numbers. It said the number one can mean a lot of different things, but one of them is a new beginning. That's like what you did." He looked toward Reid, "You started over after you got hurt. That was kinda like a new beginning, right? You started over, with us. We're like your new beginning!"

A squeak of a laugh escaped him at Jack's animated explanation, but he did his best to stifle it as the boy continued.

"And pennies are one cent. Penny's kinda in your name, I mean, the pen part anyway, so I thought it fit."

He couldn't help the smile that lit up his face. The fact that Jack had taken the time to find a good nickname for him had him beaming with happiness, and maybe a little bit of pride. He didn't even care if the reasoning behind it was a bit of a stretch.

He liked the idea of a new beginning, with them.

"Do you not like it?" Jack asked, frowning as his shoulders slumped, "I can try to think of something else if you want..."

"Oh no...I think it's the _perfect_ name," he quickly answered, noting the upward turn of the boy's lips. His eyes were starting to water, and he tried to inconspicuously wipe the tears away as raw emotion attempted to overwhelm him, "I love it, Jack. Really."

"Well, I really like that you live with us now," Jack grinned brightly at him once more, "Are you gonna live with us forever?"

"Oh..." he shook his head, eyes darting to Hotch, unsure of how he should respond. He assumed he would be moving out sooner rather than later. This was only a temporary situation, after all; just a safe place for him to recover for a while, until he was able to find his own place. "I don't know, Jackie. I don't think—"

"Jack," Aaron interrupted him, "We're just taking things one day at a time right now, okay buddy?"

"But I do love being here," Reid quickly added, smiling at Jack and then Aaron, "I love being here, with both of you."

Suddenly, he felt a brush of fingers on his knee, and then Aaron's hand was resting gently over it as their eyes locked.

"Penny knows he's more than welcome to stay right here as long as he wants," Hotch softly murmured, the hand giving his leg a tender squeeze.

He was slightly taken aback by Aaron's words, to be honest, and a little mesmerized by his eyes and his touch.

He couldn't bring himself to look away.

They hadn't exactly talked about a time frame for his convalescence, but his heart soared at the thought of being welcome there _for as long as he wanted_. He felt his hand move of its own volition, drifting under the table and coming down to curl around the one on his lap as his cheeks flushed—he was sure they were a brilliant shade of red.

"Well I hope you stay with us forever, Penny," Jack announced.

He was unable to stop his smile from growing, and he felt like he might burst from the sheer happiness of the moment. All of his worries and fears vanished in that instant, and the only thing he could think about was how long he wanted to stay with Aaron and Jack Hotchner.

Forever.

Forever sounded pretty damn perfect to him.

* * *

Spencer felt the bed dip behind him and his eyes shot wide open as his whole body tensed. No one else was supposed to be in his room, but before he had a chance to roll over to investigate, he was being forced onto his back as a substantial pressure settled over his hips. Someone was on top of him, straddling his waist, and he choked on a lump of terror beginning to fill his throat.

It was the middle of the night, and the room was too dark; his nightlight wasn't on. The only things he could make out were a silhouette above him and a hard, heavy presence lying against his stomach as the person bent down close to his face.

It was obviously a man, and his gut twisted in knots at the sensation.

There was a sharp sting at his neck, and he cried out at the bite of it; but an instant later a hot hand clamped firmly over his mouth, muffling the sound.

He could smell cinnamon—overly sweet and much too spicy.

Then he heard a voice, _that_ voice, and he fought the urge to vomit.

The cold and frigid tone of familiarity turned his insides to ice.

"Shhh, Spence. Come on...we don't wanna wake the neighbors now, do we?"

The man's head bowed down until they were just inches apart, and frosty blue eyes locked onto his in the dim light of the moon as it beamed through the window. His eyes were beginning to adjust, and he groaned under the hand still brutally covering his face as sick realization crashed into him.

Again.

Was this really happening again?

No!

It couldn't be happening again!

How did he get in?!

How did he find him this time?!

He bucked his hips wildly, arms flying up to push against Parker, trying to force him off; but he immediately stilled when the sharp presence at his neck grew more intense and the knees on either side of his chest viciously squeezed.

It felt like a vice, cracking his ribs, and his eyes screwed shut at the painful onslaught.

"Now now, baby..." Parker chided, "You really need to fuckin' stop that or I might just lose my temper." The pain at his neck vanished, and a second later there was a very large blade shining right in front of is face, "You wouldn't want to make me angry, would you?"

All he could do was look up at the man as he let out a whimper, obediently dropping his arms back to the bed, halting his struggles.

"There ya go," Parker praised, smiling down at him, "I'll let go of your mouth if you promise to be a good boy and behave yourself. Do you think you can do that?"

He let out a small whine against Parker's hand and blinked several times, trying his best to calm down, then gave him as much of a nod as he could with his limited mobility. He was having a difficult time breathing with his mouth and part of his nose obstructed, so when the hand finally left, he gulped down air like he'd been drowning.

That's exactly what it had felt like...he was lightheaded and dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the panicked adrenaline pumping through his body. After taking several long, deep breaths and collecting himself as much as he could in his current situation, he looked up at the man sitting on top of him.

The man staring down at him with a smirk, clearly amused by his distress.

"H-How did you get in here?" he stuttered, "H-How did you find me?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Spence?" Parker asked, eyes narrowing in on him, leering, "I've been right here with you all along. Don't you remember?" He cocked his head and grinned, "We've been together this whole time, baby. Just you and me."

"Wh-What?"

That didn't make any sense.

It couldn't be true!

It had to be a lie!

Parker was messing with him, screwing with his head. He'd gotten out; he'd gotten away and Parker was locked up.

Aaron told him Parker was still in jail!

"N-No...I-I got out...I got away..." he mumbled, shaking his head at the same time that his mind questioned the validity of the statement. The events were foggy, his memory confusing—it hurt his head to think. "Aaron...he—he h-helped me," he whispered, "He came for me, took me away...he took me to the hospital..."

"Oh you poor, sweet, dear little thing," Parker laughed, the cold steel of the knife gently trailing down Spencer's cheek, swiping at tears as they fell from the corner of his eye, "Fuck, baby...you really have lost your mind, haven't you? Good thing crazy's a damn sexy look on you..."

No no no.

He wasn't crazy.

He wasn't.

This wasn't right.

None of this was right!

"No," he whispered, beseeching, pleading, "I'm—I'm not. A-Am I? I'm not crazy? I—I can't..."

He didn't understand anything that was happening, and he could feel himself beginning to unravel from the fabric of a reality he thought he'd known.

He was hyperventilating, his chest felt too heavy—too tight, his stomach twisted painfully in on itself, and his body shook uncontrollably with the fear that he was absolutely losing his mind.

When Parker's mouth suddenly crashed onto his without warning, his panic grew.

The kiss was hot and wet and sloppy.

Hungry.

A tongue came out to lick at his lips, trying to slither between them; but he shut it out, denying access as he clenched his jaw tightly shut. There was a low, sinister growl directly above him at the refusal to comply, followed immediately by a burst of pain, teeth savagely biting down on his lower lip. His mouth ripped open against his will, letting out a terrified and excruciating scream; and then that tongue was shoving deep down, strangling his cries and choking him into a sickening silence.

The man was everywhere.

Again.

All over him, forcing his way inside.

His mouth stung as teeth cut into his flesh, something warm trickled from his lip, and that invading tongue left to glide along his chin, lapping up the blood before driving back into him.

He could taste copper, and a wave of nausea rolled through him, turning his stomach.

As fast as Parker had descended he was gone, lifting back up and staring down at him.

"You tried to leave me," he snarled, the edge of the blade sitting precariously over Spencer's jugular, "But I guess I've got a weakness for crazy because I just couldn't let you go, baby. I did have to teach you another lesson, though."

"What—What're you talking about?" What he was hearing made no sense to him at all. This couldn't be real. He hadn't just imagined the last five days; he wasn't that far gone! "I-I don't understand. Please, what happened? Where's...where's Aaron?"

The smile that spread across Parker's face held total devastation, and the sight of it almost killed him right there. As it was, he had to choke back heavy bile that was slowly beginning to burn its way up his throat.

"We've been through this, Spence. You fucking tried to _leave_ me!" he spat, voice dripping with ire, "But you didn't get very far before I found you, with _him._...and that fucking kid." He stopped, sharply grinning, "Oh, that beautiful, precious little boy...I sure did have some fun with him..."

"NO!" he yelled, kicking and thrashing under the weight of Parker's body, splayed out possessively on top of him.

He wasn't listening to this—he couldn't listen to this! He wasn't gonna let his ex lie to him and fill his head with false truths.

Aaron and Jack, they were fine.

They were fine and they were with him.

They had to be fine...there was no other option.

They were okay and he wasn't crazy!

"Get off me! _Please!"_ A frantic sob erupted from his throat, "No no _NOOOO!_ They have to be alright! They _have_ to be!"

"Oh yes yes yes!" Parker growled in his face, low and grating as a hand came up to yank on his hair, "I killed your fucking boss _and_ that brat son of his...Jack, isn't it?" there was a pause, then a smirk, "Oh, I'm sorry...I mean... _wasn't_ it? Sweet little _Jackie._ They both died because of you, Spencer. _It's all your fucking fault!"_

It felt like the oxygen had been sucked right out of the room and all the blood had been drained from his veins. Parker's words echoed in his head, chilling him to the bone...

.

" _They both died because of you, Spencer."_

" _It's all your fucking fault!"_

.

They died.

Because of him.

They...they _died!_

"No...it's not real. You're, you're lying," he mumbled, over and over, "It's not real. It can't be real. You're just trying to make me crazy. It's not real! It's not! It's—it's not real..."

"Do you wanna know what their last words were, Spence?"

"No no no no no..."

"Aaron was rather boring, really. Quiet. He just sat there, staring at me like he wanted to rip me apart," Parker huffed, then gave him a sickening grin, "But that little Jackie...now _he_ wasn't boring. He cried so beautifully for me, Spence. And he begged for his daddy to save him. He begged for someone else, too. Someone named... _Penny."_ He brought the blade up to tap teasingly on the tip of Spencer's nose, "Now, just who do you think Penny is?"

"Shut up," he whispered, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

Sorrow sunk deep into him with the words. If what Parker said was true, then there wasn't anything left for him now.

"Tell me...are you Penny, baby?"

"Stop..." tears streamed down his face, "Please, just stop talking..."

There was a laugh at his ear, then a hiss, "Jack asked for you, Spencer, right before I—"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he wailed, his eyes bursting open as his hand came up to grip tightly around the one holding the knife. It seemed to surprise Parker, and he was able to bring the blade back down to his own throat, pushing it further into his skin as he bared his neck. "Just do it!" he pled, body jerking through a violent sob, " _P-Please_. Just, just kill me."

If Aaron and Jack were dead, if that was the truth and they'd died because of him then it was all over anyway. Everything in his world was over—shattered, destroyed—and he was done. There was no way he'd be able to go on living knowing that the last thing that sweet, innocent little boy ever saw was Parker Simmons' hate-filled eyes leering down at him.

"Kill me," he whispered again, his body and mind both numb as he fought with the hand holding the knife. Parker tried to pull it away while he tried to bring it closer—a sick tug of war as he begged for death. He looked up into those wretched eyes, hopefully for the very last time, and snarled, "Fucking kill me, because I'd rather die with them than live with you."

Parker's face contorted with rage as he yanked his hand and the blade out of Spencer's grasp, bringing it high into the air above him.

He just laid there, unmoving, waiting for the end.

Longing for it to come quickly.

"Oh no...I'll never let you die, baby," Parker seethed, "We're gonna be together forever. But I will let you bleed, and I promise you, Spencer, I'll make it fucking hurt."

The knife came down in a hazy glint of silver, and a heavy pressure followed immediately after.

It took him a moment to decipher exactly where he'd been stabbed, but then searing pain lit up his nerves and his shoulder exploded in a white hot pulse of fire and ice that rapidly spread across his chest.

He tried to yell, to make any kind of noise at all, but he couldn't. The only thing that came out of his gaping mouth was silence. He was paralyzed from the pain, which only intensified when metal scraped against bone.

He could feel the sickening snap of tendons as steel clawed and scratched around inside his body.

Then Parker gave the blade a savage twist and Spencer finally found his voice, letting out a blood curdling scream of pure and unadulterated agony.

* * *

Aaron burst through the door with his gun aimed in front of him, and glanced toward the bed where Spencer was violently thrashing under the covers. His eyes quickly roamed over the rest of the space as he stepped further into the room, assessing every detail and making sure they were alone before dropping the barrel of his Glock to the floor.

There was no one else with them, which had been his main concern when he'd first heard the screaming—he'd thought Reid was being attacked.

He brought his attention back to Spencer, who was still whimpering in the bed but clearly not awake. He was sobbing and flailing so much, though, that Aaron feared he was going to hurt himself.

He had to do something.

He had to wake him up.

Without hesitation or thought to how badly his actions could possibly backfire, he sat his sidearm on the nightstand and climbed onto the bed, settling above Reid as he tried to gently shake him awake. The instant his hands touched Spencer's skin, however, the screaming escalated and Reid started to fight against him.

He did his best to ignore the painful sting of nails clawing into his arms as he softly spoke, "Shhh, Reid—Reid, you need to wake up."

"NO!" Spencer bucked beneath him, hands fisting into his shirt, hitting at him blindly. "Please," he whimpered, "It _hurts!_ It's too much! Please, please don't do this! Just—Just kill me..."

Those words sent an icy chill down his spine that sunk deep into the pit of his stomach.

.

 _"Just kill me..."_

.

He could feel his chest tightening around his pounding heart as his panic rose. Something was very, very wrong if Spencer was begging for someone to kill him; this wasn't a normal nightmare, it just couldn't be.

It looked more like a night _terror_ , and he had no idea how to pull him out of it.

He knew he had to, though; he couldn't leave the younger man to whatever horror he was currently trapped in.

"It's my fault. Oh god, it's my fault!" Spencer cried, "They're both dead and it's all my fault! _Just do it! Just fucking kill me!"_

"No no no!" he yelled, grabbing Reid's shoulders and shaking even harder, fear and dread spurring his actions, "Spencer, you have to wake up! Come on... _wake up!"_

That must have done the trick, because frightened hazel eyes immediately shot wide open, darting frantically around the room as Spencer gasped for air, his whole body shuddering beneath Aaron's hold.

"Hey shhh. It's okay." He instantly lowered and softened his voice, trying to keep it as steady as he could through his own adrenaline-fueled trembling. He cradled Reid's face between shaky hands and carefully examined him, not altogether certain he'd completely woken up yet, "Shhh. You're alright. It was just a dream, and it's over. Please, Spencer...I need you to come back to me now. Okay?"

It took much longer than he was comfortable with for Reid to finally meet his gaze and show some semblance of recognition—to his surroundings and to who was with him. He looked absolutely terrified—shivering, panting, drenched in sweat and pale as a sheet.

But he was also beginning to calm down.

"There you go," Aaron soothed, carding fingers through sweaty hair as he lulled Reid back to the present moment, "Shhh...you're safe, Spencer. Everything's okay now. You're safe and you're home."

"A-Aaron?" Reid's voice broke and he took in another deep breath, his hands loosening their grip on Aaron's shirt.

"Yeah, Sweetheart, it's just me," he sighed, relaxing slightly, "I promise, I'm right here with you." He didn't catch what he'd called Reid until the name had already slipped from his lips, but he didn't really care either. He had no idea what they were doing, but whatever it was, he was gonna go with it. Spencer needed help right now. He needed comfort and he needed to feel safe; and Aaron was going to give him all of that and more. He'd give him everything he needed. "I've got you," he murmured, "I'll keep you safe."

"I thought—oh god—I, I th-thought you were dead, Aaron!" he gasped, "And, and Jack—"

Reid's face crumpled and he started to sob, body shaking through every breath as though the mere act itself was excruciating.

"Spencer, hey, Jack's fine," he assured, trying his best to stay calm, "And I'm fine. You just had a nightmare. I promise, it wasn't real."

"It wasn't real," Spencer breathlessly repeated, meeting his gaze with glistening, tearful eyes. His hand came up to Aaron's cheek, and he leaned into the touch as Reid's thumb rubbed gently over his lips. "You're okay," he murmured, brows furrowing, "You and Jack...you're, you're really okay?"

"Yes. I promise you, we're both just fine."

A part of him—most of him, honestly—wanted nothing more than to open his mouth and wrap his lips around the finger caressing him.

He wanted to taste the saltiness of Reid's skin.

Bow down and cover Spencer's trembling lips with his own.

Comfort him, slowly, with words and body.

Soft and gentle.

Soothing.

All night long.

For a second he thought that was exactly what Reid wanted, too, what with the way the man was looking up at him; and it took a tremendous amount of strength to stop himself from acting on his desires.

That was obviously not at all what needed to happen.

Clearly.

So instead, he placed his hand over the one still resting against his cheek and smiled down at the most beautiful face he'd ever seen, reiterating, "Jack and I are okay."

"Aaron, it was so real," he whispered, "Everything...it all felt...it felt so real."

"It wasn't. I promise. Whatever you saw, Spencer, none of it was real."

Reid nodded his head, taking in another deep breath as he slowly pulled his hand away, and Aaron let him.

Reluctantly.

"I'm sorry I woke you," Spencer frowned, "I didn't wake Jack, did I?"

"No, Jack's a pretty heavy sleeper," he assured with a smile, stroking through Reid's tangled hair again, smoothing it out of his face, "How about you? Do you think you can go back to sleep?"

"I don't wanna be alone," he mumbled, his body tensing at the question. He bit his lip and looked back up into Aaron's eyes, "Will you, um...will you s-stay with me? I mean, would you mind? For a little while?"

He didn't know if that was the best idea given everything Spencer had been through, but the man looked so completely lost, and fragile, and on edge that the thought of leaving him in that condition was breaking Aaron's heart.

He couldn't say no to him.

And he didn't want to say no.

So instead, he gave him a nod and shifted onto his side, positioning himself next to him rather than above him. He made sure he was lying on top of the blankets while Reid remained beneath them, keeping the two separated; and Spencer quickly turned, leaning his back flush against Aaron's chest.

"Is this okay?" he asked, a little surprised by Reid initiating so much contact.

"Yes," Spencer quickly answered, "Please, Aaron. Just, just please hold me."

He did as he was asked, curling his arm around Reid's side and splaying his hand across the younger man's chest. A rapid heartbeat thrummed out its rhythm against his palm through the soft fabric of Spencer's shirt, and he held him as close as possible—keeping him safe and secure. The position felt absolutely perfect, like their bodies were made for one another, made to fit together; and they stayed right there as he murmured gentle reassurances.

"I've got you. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. I will never leave you, Spencer. You're safe. You're here with me, you're home and you're safe."

Long fingers brushed over his hand and then thread between his own, clinging to him, and he heard a tiny, mumbled sigh, "This...this wasn't real."

"Hm?"

"In my dream, none of this—n-none of it was real," Spencer clarified, holding tighter to the hand on his chest. "H-He said I was crazy, and that I'd been with him this whole time," he was starting to shake again, his voice growing shrill and frantic, "He—He said you and Jack were dead, and that it was my—that, that it was all my fault—"

"Shhh," Aaron soothed, leaning down and brushing his lips across the shell of Spencer's ear. The body in his arms violently shook, yet he held firm, breathing in the scent of Reid's hair as he softly whispered, "We're fine, Sweetheart. Jack and I are just fine. We're all safe."

"O-Okay," Reid nodded, sniffling, "I know...it—it was just a dream. It's okay, we're all okay."

"That's right," he murmured. It sounded like Spencer was trying to convince himself, and Aaron pulled him in a little closer, "We're all okay."

If only he'd done something before now.

If he'd said something, _anything_ sooner, then maybe none of this would have happened to begin with. He'd known for a while that Reid wasn't right—that there was something wrong with him—but he'd done nothing about it.

He'd just stood back and silently watched.

His inaction had allowed that bastard to lay hands on Spencer, and because of it he kind of felt responsible for everything that had been done to him.

Hell, he may as well have inflicted all the damage himself.

He was just as guilty.

"I'm so sorry, Spencer."

"For what?"

"I thought there was something wrong with you and Simmons, but I kept my suspicions to myself. I didn't want to invade your privacy. I should have, though; I should have at least said something to you, told you my concerns."

Reid laughed, but it sounded bitter and forced, "I wouldn't have listened to you. I would have denied it—played like everything was fine. Pretended I was happy..." He rolled over to his back and looked up at Aaron, their eyes meeting as his brows furrowed, "I didn't want to believe things with him were really that bad. I thought I loved him, Hotch; and...I thought he loved me, too. It was stupid and silly...naive. God, I was so stupid!"

"Hey, don't talk like that," he sighed, gently cupping Spencer's cheek, "Thinking that isn't stupid or silly, Reid." He stopped and stared at him, thinking, wishing there was some magic phrase he could utter that would make Spencer realize just how incredible he truly was. "You're human, and you tried to see the best in the relationship. That's not stupid."

"I feel like he's still out there," Reid mumbled, "Watching me."

It was low, and almost incomprehensible.

Almost.

"He's not. I promise you, Spencer, he's not out."

"I know, but I still can't seem to shake the feeling." He frowned, uncertainty in his eyes as they flitted between Aaron's, "I—I thought he was, um...I thought he was at the...the store today."

"That's why you wanted to know if he was still in jail," he stated as understanding dawned on him. That was the reason Reid had asked about Simmons earlier—why he'd seemed a bit off during dinner. "You thought you saw him while you were out today."

"Ah, y-yeah..." his body shivered next to Aaron's, "I thought he was, um, f-following me? And it triggered a flashback, I guess. But then, everything was different. It turned into something else...something—something worse. God, it was so much worse..." His face crumpled and his hands came up, clutching to Aaron's shirt, "It was like he was there, Aaron. He was _really_ there! He was right there, and he was touching me and yelling and—he was so angry with me...for, for leaving him. He said he was gonna punish me for disobeying him...called me his _property—"_

Reid's voice broke then, and he started to cry.

"Shhh. It's alright," Aaron softly spoke, trying to comfort him, keep him calm, "He's not gonna lay a hand on you, Spencer. I swear it. Everything's okay—"

"No, it's not okay!" he interrupted, anger laced in the wetness of his words, "I thought I could at least go to the fucking store by myself! That's simple, right? It's so simple a child could do it— _I_ did it! But I—I couldn't do it today. All I could do was make a huge scene. I made a fool of myself, Aaron! Everyone was staring at me and, and I didn't know what to do—I didn't know what to say, and people were touching me and, and—it w-was—"

His hysterics were abruptly halted by his body convulsing through a violent sob, and Aaron's arms tightened around him.

"Spencer, come on now, calm down." He kept his voice as low and steady as he could, like he was talking to a frightened victim, "You're getting way too worked up here. You need to breathe for me—slow, deep breaths, okay? Just look at me. Watch me, focus on my voice, and breathe."

Reid's manic eyes met his and then Spencer took several shuddering gasps, slowly blowing them out as he listened to Aaron's instructions, obeying to the best of his ability.

"Good. There you go. You're doing great, baby," he praised, not caring in the slightest that he'd called Reid _baby._

Again, the name had just slipped from him in the moment, and it felt natural and _oh so right_ as it filled the space between them.

Besides, Spencer hadn't seemed to really care; although it was possible he hadn't even noticed considering the panicked state he was currently in.

Aaron tried to put it out of his mind, bowing down and resting his forehead against Reid's as they continued to breathe in and out together, Spencer slowly calming down once more. The body in his arms began to still and he felt Reid's hands release their grip on his shirt, moving around to grasp at his back.

The room fell silent, quiet peace descending over them like a comforting blanket.

They were extremely close, physically—sharing air, and warmth, and something else he wasn't quite sure of.

He did know it was something very important.

Highly essential.

Profound.

Trust, maybe.

Even after all that Spencer had been through, all the hurt he'd been forced to endure, he still trusted Aaron enough to be this close to him—this open and exposed and vulnerable in his presence. Reid was clinging to him like a lifeline, physically and emotionally, and he wanted nothing more than to be exactly that for him.

He knew he wouldn't be able to help him through everything, though, and he heard Dave's words echo in his mind...

.

 _"He may need to be evaluated by a professional. He's clearly got acute PTSD, and not a mild form of it from what I saw yesterday. He was a complete mess and he wasn't in control of his mind, Aaron. He would benefit from talking to someone."_

.

"Spencer," he started, wary and hesitant. He had no idea how Reid would react to what he was about to say. "Maybe you should talk to someone."

"I'm talking to you."

"No, I know you are," he smiled, moving to place a gentle kiss to Reid's forehead before meeting his eyes again. The action was automatic, and he hadn't even completely realized he'd done it. "I love that you feel like you can talk to me about this, but I think you might need to speak with a professional as well."

"You...you think I'm crazy," Spencer's expression and tone did very little to mask his mortification, "You do, don't you? Do you want to lock me up?"

"No, absolutely not," he quickly countered, "I've never thought that of you and you're not going anywhere. Okay?"

Reid gave him a tiny, silent nod, his expression still worried.

"I just feel like it would be beneficial for you to talk with someone else, too," he added, "Maybe they could help you work through some of the things you've been struggling with. I promise you, that's all this is. I don't think you're crazy."

Spencer stared at him for a minute, his mind racing behind those beautiful eyes of his, contemplating. "I'll...think about it," he finally sighed, "For you." At that, he rolled onto his side and pushed his back up against Aaron's chest once more, "But for now, at least for tonight, can you just hold me? Will you hold me until I fall asleep?"

"Of course, Sweetheart," he murmured, hugging Spencer close. He held back his own stinging tears as he once again breathed in the sweet scent riding on silky soft hair, "There's no place else I'd rather be."

.


	20. Permission

Chapter Twenty

Permission

.

The next day at the BAU, Aaron sat at his desk, locked away from the hustle and bustle of the bullpen as he worked to finish several reports due to Cruz before he left for the evening. He'd been so preoccupied with helping Reid get through the week that he'd let his paperwork slide, and now he was trying to play catch up.

He was failing at it, rather spectacularly.

It was difficult for him to concentrate on much of anything other than what had happened the night before. He'd ended up spending most of it in Spencer's room, in his bed, holding him tightly in his arms.

They'd fit perfectly together, Reid's back firmly against his chest.

Big spoon and little.

And although the situation had been brought on by a traumatic event, he couldn't really bring himself to wish that it hadn't happened. Of course, he would have much preferred to spend the night with Spencer for happier reasons, but he was just thankful he'd been there to comfort the younger man.

He could still hear the screams that had woken him up from a dead sleep echoing in his mind, and it sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't stop himself from wondering if that was exactly how Spencer had sounded when Simmons had attacked him, and the thought had his hands balling into tight fists—the bite of nails digging into his palms bringing him out of his growing rage.

When he'd heard those screams he'd immediately known they were coming from Reid, and at first he was terrified someone had broken in, which was why he'd grabbed his gun before running down the hall and peeking into Jack's room. His son had been sleeping soundly, so he'd moved on to the guest room, bursting through the door to find Spencer thrashing about in the middle of the bed, alone, and very clearly in the throes of a nightmare.

The only danger Reid had been in was from himself.

He probably hadn't handled the situation properly, but he'd let his instincts take over and it seemed to work out alright in the end. He'd woken Spencer up, gotten him to realize where he was, and calmed him down.

For the most part.

He hadn't actually planned on staying there for the rest of the night; and honestly, he probably never should have climbed into Reid's bed to begin with. He knew what kind of repercussions an action like that could have on a victim's recovery, but he also hadn't been thinking clearly at the time. He'd just had to wake him up, by whatever means necessary; and if he hadn't done it he was sure Spencer would've ended up hurting himself with all the thrashing and flailing.

He'd been concerned for his safety.

And the moment he saw those hazel eyes finally open, looking up at him all frantic and terrified, he'd known he wasn't going anywhere—at least not for a while. Reid had been on the verge of a complete breakdown, and when he'd asked Aaron to stay with him—to hold him while he slept—he'd been unable to say no.

He couldn't leave him alone, not in the state of mind he'd been in.

Nothing else had happened between them, of course; he'd remained on top of the covers while Spencer stayed safely beneath them, and he'd just held him close, whispering whatever came to his mind in the moment until Reid's breathing began to even out. Only then, after it was evident that Spencer had fallen asleep, did he let himself drift off as well.

It had been one of the best night's sleep he'd had in a long time.

And when he'd woken up that morning, Spencer's slumbering face was the first thing he'd seen—eyes closed, long lashes resting across flushed cheeks, lush pink lips slightly parted. His golden brown hair had been splayed out around his head like a halo, framing his features, and Aaron couldn't remember if he'd ever seen him looking that calm and relaxed.

It was a gorgeous sight.

Beautiful and absolutely stunning.

He could definitely get used to waking up to that face every day.

Apparently at some point during the night Spencer had rolled onto his stomach and tucked his body closely into Aaron's; and Hotch's arm was draped protectively across the small of Reid's back, his hand curling around the man's waist, keeping him near.

Their faces had been so close he could have easily inched forward and met their lips in a soft and tender kiss; and his body had hummed with excitement at the idea, sending sparks of desire pulsing through him.

He'd quickly dismissed the thought, though, only entertaining it further in his mind. Spencer didn't need to be woken up by an uninvited kiss of all things, and Aaron would never do something like that to him. Instead, he'd chosen to focus on the fact that Spencer appeared to be sleeping peacefully, and he was immensely grateful for it.

Reid could definitely use the rest.

He'd taken a few minutes to just lie there, appreciating the view as he'd watched Spencer sleep—marveling at the absolute beauty of the man before him, the perfect line of his nose and the sharp angle of his jaw—before he'd eased his way out of bed to begin preparing for the day.

Before he and Jack had left, though, he'd gone back into Reid's room and gently woke him to let him know they were leaving. The idea of Spencer waking up later in the morning and suddenly realizing he was alone had left him feeling uneasy, so he'd wanted to ensure that that didn't happen...

.

 _Aaron carefully sat on the edge of the bed and bent down, brushing his fingers across Spencer's forehead to smooth away the hair covering his eyes._

" _Reid," he softly murmured, "Jack and I are about to leave."_

 _He watched with fondness as Spencer stretched and slowly rolled onto his back, hair sticking out in every possible direction as the cutest, sleepy little whine escaped his mouth. When he opened his eyes a moment later, they instantly locked with Aaron's and held him there, gorgeous hazel brimming with something that reminded him of joy._

 _The corner of Spencer's mouth quirked into a groggy half grin, and his hand lazily searched until it found Aaron's, lacing their fingers together. "Hey, you," he mumbled, breathy and loose._

" _Hey." He couldn't help the smile that crossed his own lips at the sight of Spencer looking up at him the way he was, with something akin to delightful adoration etched on his face—not even a hint of the fear or anxiety present from before. He'd longed to see Reid look at him like that for years, so it was a little difficult for him to believe it was truly happening. "Did you sleep well?"_

 _There was a small nod in answer, and the smile on Reid's face softly faded away, his demeanor changing from relaxed to contemplative in an instant. "Thank you," he whispered, voice hoarse and thick from sleep, "For last night, I mean. It helped. You being here with me helped. You kept the nightmares away, Aaron."_

 _He felt a rumble in his chest at that, the familiar fire of protectiveness he was becoming quite accustomed to, and before he could stop himself he leaned down to kiss Reid's forehead like he'd done the night before, breathing in the sweet scent that lingered in wispy chestnut locks._

 _Purely Spencer._

 _He knew immediately after he'd done it that he really probably shouldn't have; the last thing he wanted to do was cause any further damage._

 _Reid didn't flinch away or tense up at the action, and a part of Aaron wondered if that was a good or bad sign for his recovery. When he pulled away and looked back down into Spencer's face, though, his concerns diminished slightly. They had no choice; they were drowned out by the radiant smile that greeted him._

 _He had no idea what was going on between them, but if that dazzling smile told him anything it was that Spencer felt just about as strongly for him as he did for Spencer—which was hard to believe considering he loved the younger man with all of his heart._

" _You gonna be okay today?" he softly asked, tucking a few flyaway strands of hair behind Reid's ear._

" _I think so." Spencer's voice was beginning to clear. He seemed comfortable, content and in complete control. Maybe even happy. A blush crept into his cheeks as he looked into Aaron's eyes, adding with a curious lilt, "Um, I did have one question before you go?"_

" _Anything."_

" _Last night..." he paused, dropping his gaze and chewing on his lower lip for a minute before meeting Aaron's eyes again, "Did you, um, call me...Sweetheart?"_

 _Damn._

 _He'd thought Reid hadn't actually noticed his slip. Although, granted, he'd ended up saying it several times and with each time there was a better chance of it being caught. "I may have," he slowly answered, feeling his own cheeks flushing with heat, "A few times."_

" _Oh...um, okay. And," Reid's brows furrowed, "baby, too?"_

 _Dammit._

" _Yeah, Reid. Look, I'm sorry, I was just in the moment, trying to calm you down and—"_

" _Oh, no! No, don't worry about it. It's—It's fine," Spencer interrupted with a grin, the hand holding his tightening its grip, "I just, I wasn't really sure I'd heard correctly, you know, with everything going on. I was a little busy freaking out."_

" _If you're not comfortable with it, I can stop," he assured._

" _Well, I don't think I'm_ uncomfortable _with it," Reid quickly answered, his voice shy, "So, if you wanna keep calling me that you can...but, um, only if you want...of course."_

" _Alright," he chuckled, unable to hold it in any longer. He wondered when, exactly, they'd both become two love-struck teenage girls, but shrugged it off, "I'd like that." Sighing, he gave Reid's hand one last squeeze, "I need to get going if I wanna get to the office on time."_

 _He swallowed down the sudden lump filling his throat at the thought of leaving Spencer alone after the night they'd had._

 _The night they'd shared together._

 _In a way it had been wonderful—one of the best nights of his life—but it had also been a startling punch to his gut. Seeing Reid completely out of it, terrified and begging someone to kill him was something he hoped to never experience again. Spencer had been doing quite well over the last several days, but that in no way meant that his mind was well. He was still struggling, and he had a long way to go in his recovery—as evidenced by last night._

 _Aaron was brought out of his musings by fingers brushing over his jaw._

" _I'd hate for you to be late because of me," Spencer smirked, "I don't think you'd ever let me hear the end of it."_

 _He huffed out a laugh, covering the hand on his face with his own as he pushed his worries aside, "You're probably right. I'll call you at lunch."_

" _I can't wait. But still..." Reid sighed and squeezed his hand, "Hurry home?"_

" _As fast as I can."_

.

He felt kind of silly, like a school boy with a crush, but he'd wanted to grow closer to Spencer Reid for years and now that it was actually happening he didn't want to give it up. The only thing he wished he could change about their current situation was the beginning—the catalyst that had brought them to this moment. He wished he could go back in time and tell Reid how he felt about him years ago, after he'd found himself a widow and a single father, and after he'd had time to grieve and mourn.

There was no telling what their life could be like right now if he had.

That kind of thinking wasn't at all helpful, and it only worked to rile him up, so he put it out of his mind and looked to the clock.

It was eleven.

He'd call and check on Reid in an hour. They'd gotten into a habit of talking at lunch, and he'd found himself craving their conversations more and more. It was pretty much the highlight of his work day.

There was a knock on his door and he turned to see Garcia standing in the doorway clutching a piece of paper tightly in her hands. Her outfit was flamboyant; red, white and blue covered her knee-length dress, and a matching feathery hair piece stuck out of her head. It was loud, and glittery, and festive; but the expression she wore on her face was the exact opposite.

Sullen, morose, wary.

She kind of looked like her puppy had just been kicked, and she was a bit green around the gills. He could tell whatever she needed to talk to him about wasn't good.

He was almost afraid to respond, but he did anyway, lifting his hand and motioning for her to enter, "Come in."

"Sir," she solemnly greeted, moving right up to his desk and slapping the piece of paper down in front of him.

She stood there, shuffling from high heeled foot to high heeled foot as she nervously watched him pick up the form.

"Garcia, what is it?" he asked, meeting her gaze.

He didn't look down at the paper, more interested in what had his technical analyst so on edge. To be honest, given Penelope's body language, he was apprehensive to look at what he held in his hands.

"Ah, sir, it's...well, um, it's Parker Simmons."

Instantly his jaw tightened and his stomach twisted into a sick ball of anger and rage, a dash of fear mixed in for good measure. This was definitely not gonna be a good conversation.

"What about him?"

He had to ask the question, but he didn't think he really wanted to know the answer.

He was pretty sure he was going to hate the answer.

"Um, his arraignment was this morning," she quickly supplied, then her brows drew down in anger, "And do you know what he did? That son of a bitch had the nerve to plead not guilty!" She stopped, eyes wide as her hands came up to cover her mouth, "Oh my gosh! I am so so sorry, sir! I didn't mean to lose my temper..."

He tried to hold back his own temper at the news that Simmons had pled not guilty to the things he'd done to Reid. There was no way in hell the man could possibly think he'd be able to prove his innocence. It was ludicrous.

"It's alright, Garcia," he assured, "What happened in court?"

She huffed and crossed her arms in front of her chest, colorful eyelids and heavy lashes blinking furiously. She was obviously trying not to let her emotions get the better of her—trying not to cry. He gave her the time she needed to collect herself, and a moment later she seemed to regain her composure, taking a deep breath and clearing her throat before calmly answering his question.

"The judge set bail and he just posted it. The notification came through on my computer. He's out, Hotch. Parker Simmons was just released."

Fuck.

He'd been right; this wasn't a good conversation, and he hated it.

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He supposed they should be thankful that Simmons had been locked up for as long as he had.

"We knew this was probably coming," he mumbled, "Unfortunately."

He glanced down at the paper still in his hand, dark thoughts already creeping into his mind—thoughts about what Simmons could do now that he was free.

The only thing keeping him from jumping up right then and heading straight home was the fact that he knew Parker had no idea where Spencer was or who he was staying with—and even if he did, he didn't know _where_ they lived. Reid would be safe as long as he didn't leave the house, and after what had happened at the grocery store he didn't think that was going to be a problem.

"You've got to be kidding me," he growled, reading the paper and looking back up to Garcia, "He waived his right to a speedy trial?"

It was bad enough the man had pled not guilty, but this was fucking ridiculous.

"Mhm," she answered, nodding her head, "Why would he do something like that?"

"He's in no hurry to get this over with," he theorized, "The longer he can drag it all out, the worse he thinks it'll be for Reid."

"Hasn't he done enough to him?"

"Apparently not."

If Parker Simmons couldn't physically get to Spencer, he was going to try to get to him in other ways. Dragging Reid through a messy trial was just another form of torture and abuse.

Another way to stay in his life.

"What a slime ball..." she muttered, tapping her nails on his desk, "Can I kill him, Hotch? I've been around you lot long enough that I think I can make it look like a convincing accident."

"I'm pretty sure that would still be frowned upon," he commented, distracted.

It was a bit hypocritical of him to say since he was thinking the same damn thing, but he couldn't in good conscious condone murder.

Right?

"Um, Hotch?"

"Yes?" he looked back up, waiting for her to continue.

"Morgan said Parker didn't think Reid would stay away from him. The creep said we wouldn't be able to keep them apart."

"Garcia, Reid has no intention of going back to that man."

"Oh, I know," she quickly nodded in agreement, then her face fell, "But sir, what if—what if Parker doesn't plan on staying away from Reid?"

"If Simmons tries anything, _then_ we can kill him."

He wasn't entirely joking. He wasn't joking at all, really. If Parker Simmons tried to hurt Spencer again he was afraid he might actually kill the man.

After all, he'd done it before.

He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty to protect the ones he loved.

Sighing again, he threw the paper onto his desk and leaned back in the chair, shaking the murderous thoughts from his mind as he rubbed at his temples.

There were other things to contemplate.

He had no idea how Spencer was going to handle the news that his ex was out on bail, especially after what had happened yesterday. And this was definitely not something he was prepared to tell him over the phone, so it would have to wait until he got home. Even then, though, he didn't know how he was going to do it. He didn't know if he could look into those hazel eyes that were so happy and calm this morning and watch them shatter with the news.

"Thank you, Garcia," he gave her a weary smile, "Just keep an eye on all of Simmons' assets. I wanna know if he does anything odd."

"No problem, sir. You'll be the first one I call. But, ah, if you don't mind me asking..." she hesitated, wringing her hands together.

"What is it?"

"How's he doing?" Her voice quivered with the question, and he could see tears welling up in her eyes, "It's just, I worry about all of you so much. You're my babies, and when one of you is hurting I wanna make it better. But, I can't make this all better. I'm lost here, sir. I have no idea what to do for him, and I hate it."

He got out of his seat and quickly moved around the desk until he was close enough to pull her into his arms. It was a momentary lapse of professionalism, but when Garcia started to ramble and cry the best thing to do for her was give her a hug. That's what he'd always seen Morgan do, anyway, and it worked most of the time. At first, he felt her body tense under his touch, but almost instantly she relaxed and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him back as she continued to sniffle.

"He's dealing," he quietly answered, "He's struggling, but he's also making progress, and he's healing. It's just gonna take some time for him to come through this. The best thing you can do for him right now is just be there when he needs you."

"O-Okay," she nodded her head and gave him one good squeeze, then pulled away and removed her glasses to wipe at her eyes. "You're a good man, opening up your home and taking him in like you did," she sniffed, then replaced the shiny red frames on her face, pushing them up the bridge of her nose as she gave him a tiny smirk, "And you two are gonna be so gosh darn cute together someday. Like, fluffy puppy cute."

His heart almost leapt out of his chest when his brain finally processed what she'd said; and he was choked into stunned silence as he watched her leave his office in all her patriotic glory.

First Rossi, and now Garcia?

Had he really been that transparent?

He didn't think so.

On the contrary; he thought he'd kept his feelings for Spencer under wraps. Of course, he did work with some of the best profilers in the world, so maybe it was silly of him to believe he could keep a secret that huge from them forever.

To be honest, it was probably just a matter of time before they all figured it out.

He sat back down at his desk, still in a bit of a shock.

He wondered exactly how many other members of the BAU already knew about his feelings for their resident genius.

* * *

After he finished reading to Jack and tucking him into bed, Spencer quietly left the room and moved toward the stairs, his sights set on the living room. However, he stopped dead in his tracks when Hotch emerged from his office, an apprehensive look plastered on his face as he leaned against the door frame.

Reid had known something was up with him all evening; he'd been acting funny ever since he and Jack got home. Every time Spencer had asked if he was okay, though, he'd dismissively shrugged the question off, saying that they'd talk about it later.

That hadn't made him feel any better. Knowing there was something to discuss later had only served to keep him on edge, so eventually he'd just tried to put it out of his mind so he could enjoy the rest of the evening.

But the evening was over now, Jack was asleep, and Hotch looked like he was ready to talk.

The funny thing was, Spencer didn't know if he was ready to listen. He didn't know if he wanted to hear what was going on anymore. It couldn't be anything good, otherwise Hotch wouldn't have made him wait; he would have said something sooner.

"Aaron, what is it?" he cautiously asked.

"Spencer, there's something I need to tell you."

Hotch moved out of the doorway, opening it up and motioning for Reid to enter the office.

Instantly he was on high alert; he could feel his body seizing up, tensing with anxiousness and worry. Conversations that started like that were usually unpleasant, and his thoughts ran wild and rampant with 'what if' scenarios that only worked to fuel his uneasiness.

What if Aaron regretted sleeping in his room last night?

Or what if he thought they were getting too involved with one another too quickly?

What if Hotch had decided that he no longer wanted him in his house and he needed to find a new place to stay?

Questions were flooding his mind and he could hardly keep track of them all, especially when he added in the plethora of dreadful answers that could be waiting for him in that office. He didn't know if he really wanted to go in.

His eyes darted back and forth between Hotch and the door, anxiously trying to decipher Aaron's body language.

He couldn't just walk in blindly.

He didn't want to be caught off guard.

"Reid," Hotch coaxed, halting his rambling and panicked thoughts, "It's gonna be okay, but we need to discuss a few things."

He nodded his head and wrapped his arms protectively around himself as he forced his feet to move forward, entering the room and sitting in one of the chairs by the desk. Aaron sat next to him, immediately taking his hand and rubbing circles along the back of it with his thumb.

Soothing.

That, at least, was a bit of a comfort.

Hotch wasn't pulling away from him, which meant that he probably didn't have any regrets about what had happened between them the night before. Not that they'd really done anything. Looking up from their joined hands to Aaron's face, he bit his lip and waited patiently for the man to speak.

"Something happened today, and I'm not entirely sure how to tell you," Hotch began, "Besides just coming right out and telling you."

"What, Hotch?" his voice was barely above a whisper, he could feel his throat closing up, "Please, whatever it is, just say it. I'm sure it's not as bad as what I'm imagining in my head right now."

"Parker Simmons was arraigned today."

"Oh."

Those five words hit him like a ton of bricks.

That wasn't what he'd been imagining; and also, he was wrong...it _was_ worse. Or, it was at least just as bad.

Maybe.

He stared blankly at Hotch, not really sure of what to say or how to feel about the revelation. He wanted to know more details, but part of him was terrified of what those details could be.

"What, ah," he stopped to clear his throat, still much too tight, "What h-happened?"

"He pled not guilty and the judge set bail."

"Did he..." he couldn't bring himself to ask the question.

Tears welled up in his eyes as panic set in—all the 'what if' scenarios fleeing from his mind as nightmares took their place.

"He met bail," Aaron answered the unfinished question, "He was released. He's out, Spencer."

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room as he listened to Aaron's words echo in his head.

.

" _He met bail."_

" _He was released."_

" _He's out."_

.

Gripping firmly to Aaron's hand, he closed his eyes and tried to take a deep, calming breath. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, and he felt a little light-headed.

Deep down he'd always known this was probably going to happen, but it had been an eventuality...not an _actual_ reality. Now, though, it was real and he couldn't just ignore it.

He'd been right to be nervous about coming into this room and hearing what had been bothering Aaron. The news wasn't good. It was one of the worst things that could have happened given his current circumstances. He was undecided on whether it was better or worse than Hotch asking him to leave, but nevertheless, it was still pretty devastating. His attacker was out of jail, free to go wherever he wanted whenever he wanted.

Free to do whatever he pleased.

Stalk whomever he pleased.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought as his analytical mind clicked into gear. He'd believed someone had been watching him for a while, but Parker had just been released today. That meant his fears that his ex had been the one following him were unfounded.

It was paranoia, plain and simple.

Parker Simmons wasn't lurking in the shadows waiting to pounce on him. He knew that, rationally, and he was going to do everything in his power to act like he believed it.

And with time, maybe he'd start to believe it for real as well.

"Spencer, say something," Hotch softly ordered, "Tell me what's going on in that head of yours. What are you thinking?"

"I—I don't know what to say," he immediately replied, opening his eyes and meeting Aaron's concerned gaze. He felt like he was kind of on autopilot, "This was bound to happen, I guess. We both knew he'd probably get out sooner or later, and if he pled not guilty then there's gonna be a trial. I'll have to go, but hopefully it'll be over quickly..."

"Reid," Aaron hesitated.

"What?" The way Hotch was looking at him told him there was something else that hadn't been said yet, and his stomach twisted in anticipation, "What else could there possibly be?"

"He waived his right to a speedy trial."

"Shit." The word was past his lips before he could stop it, and he shot Hotch a silent apology; but Aaron simply continued to rub soothing circles along the back of his hand, maintaining a steady and grounding pressure. "He's gonna drag this out, isn't he?" he murmured, "He's gonna do it just to torture me...because he _can._ "

"I don't know," Hotch sighed, shaking his head. Reid watched him move his chair a little closer, then leaned into Aaron's touch as fingers began to run through his hair. "But I'll tell you what I do know. I'm not going anywhere. No matter what happens, I'll be right here with you through it all."

"Is that, like, our motto now or something?" he huffed, "'We'll get through this together'?"

He could feel his body start to tremble with something he wasn't quite sure of—fear, anger, trepidation. Aaron always said he'd stay with him, but that only did so much. He was still the one who actually had to live with all the memories and nightmares every single day. He was the one who couldn't leave the house without having a mental break down. He was the one searching the street over and over for any signs of a stalker.

He wasn't with Parker anymore, but in a way he was still the man's prisoner, and he was so tired of it he could scream.

He needed to be stronger than that.

He _could_ be stronger.

"Well, it's true. We will get through it," was Aaron's quick reply, "So please, tell me how you're really feeling."

"I'm okay," he automatically muttered with a nod, then thought for a minute about the validity of the statement. The look Aaron was giving him told him he wasn't the only person in the room who believed his answer to be a lie, so he quickly corrected, "I mean, I'm not _okay_ , exactly. I'm nervous. Um, and a little scared, maybe? But I'll _be_ okay." He was determined not to let Parker win. He refused to allow the man to continue holding him captive, and he let his resolve shine through his eyes as he stared back at Hotch. "I'm gonna beat him, Aaron," he vowed, "I'm not gonna let him win this time."

The smile that crossed Aaron's lips at his declaration radiated pure bliss, and he wanted nothing more in that moment than to put Parker Simmons out of his mind forever. The man didn't deserve to be there any longer.

Someone else had earned that right.

The person who belonged there was sitting directly in front of him, beaming at him with those thousand watt dimples.

"I'm so proud of you." The hand carding through his hair moved to curl around the back of his neck and Aaron's voice lowered, growing a little more serious, "But from now on, when you're here alone I want you to have your gun readily available."

"Hotch, Park doesn't know where I am. Right?" he frowned, his adrenaline pumping again with the request, anxiousness creeping in, "He doesn't know I'm staying with you, and he has no idea where you live. That shouldn't be necessary."

Parker wasn't stalking him.

"Probably not," Aaron agreed, "But it would still put my mind at ease to know that you're armed when I'm not around. Just in case."

"Oh. Um, o-okay," he stammered, "Of course, if that's what you really want."

"It is. Also," he continued, "I know it's the weekend, but I could set it up to work from home next week." He gave Spencer a look that had him wondering if Hotch knew something else he wasn't saying; he seemed overly concerned about him being alone. "I'm sure I can work it out with Cruz—"

"Aaron, no, you can't do that. You need to go to the office," he protested, "As much as I'd like the company, I can still stay here by myself. I don't need a babysitter. I'll be fine."

Everything would be fine.

He gave Hotch a small smile and rose from his seat, trying his best not to shake as he did so.

Letting go of the hand in his, he turned toward the door; but he only got a few steps away before that hand was grabbing the inside of his elbow to gently halt his movement. When he turned back he found himself staring straight into intense, chocolate brown eyes—his face just mere inches from Aaron's. They were so close that it startled him, breath catching in his throat as the hold on his arm tightened ever so slightly, prohibiting him from retreating further. It felt like those eyes were looking into the deepest depths of him; and the sensation, coupled with their close proximity, sent a spark of warmth emanating pleasantly through him.

He watched with bated breath as Hotch took a step closer, and with the advance he could sense the warmth of Aaron's body right next to his. If he leaned in a fraction of an inch, every part of his front would be in contact with every part of Aaron's, and that thought sent another spark through him— _more_ pleasant and _more_ carnal—terminating in a much more arousing spot.

Heat simmered deep in his belly.

He wasn't quite sure what was happening, but he knew he didn't seem to need or want any space like he had the last time they'd been in a similar position. And although he was being held in place, he knew with absolute certainty that if he told Aaron to let him go he would, and the thought had him daring to lean in just a bit further.

At that cue, Aaron's other hand came up to comb fingers through his hair, scratching gently across his scalp; and a tiny whimper escaped as he closed his eyes, savoring the feel of the touch.

"You're extremely important to me, Spencer," Hotch murmured, voice thick and husky to his ears, breath hot on his lips, "I just want to know that you're safe. I have to make sure you're protected."

"I'm, um..." he had to stop to try and catch his breath; he hadn't realized he'd been holding it. His heart was thrumming, body buzzing with curious excitement. He inhaled, long and deep, then licked his suddenly very dry lips and opened his eyes to look up into Aaron's. "I'm safe right now," he shuddered as fingers brushed the skin behind his ear, "I'm, protected...here with you."

Hotch smiled at that, and the hand holding his elbow let go, trailing nails lightly over his arm until they reached his shoulder, then advanced up along his throat. He leaned his head back, opening himself up more; and his body sizzled from the touch as fingers curled around the nape of his neck, softly feathering over the skin there. He was lost in Aaron's eyes, stuck to the spot—unable to move backward or forward—and he didn't know what to do, but somehow that was okay. He knew he was alright because he was basking in Aaron's gaze—in the look on the man's face; a look that screamed protection and safety and warmth.

After a minute of peaceful silence spent transfixed to one another, Hotch let out a long, heavy sigh.

Then he felt the hand in his hair move to the back of his head, gripping firm yet gently at the roots; and he brought his own hands up to lightly rest at Aaron's waist.

Hot breath ghosted over his face as a smooth voice filled what little space was left between them.

"I don't know if this is the best idea, but I can't get the thought of it out of my head." Aaron paused for just a moment, like he was thinking his next words over carefully, then murmured, "Sweetheart...may I kiss you?"

His heart leapt into his throat at the unexpected question, and that warm pulse deep in his center intensified. The first thing his hazy mind screamed as a reply was _oh god, yes please_ ; and his body enthusiastically agreed. So much so that he felt himself almost pushing forward, wanting to give in to the desire and take matters into his own hands. Somehow, though, he stopped himself; and a second later his addled brain finally kicked into gear.

He couldn't have heard that right.

He had to be mistaken.

There was no way Aaron had just asked if he could _kiss_ him. That kind of a question wasn't even on Spencer's radar. A kiss was something that was taken from you when somebody wanted it. There was no asking.

Parker had never asked him.

Even when things had been good between them, before he'd moved in with the man, Park had never asked him if he could kiss him. It was just something that was done to him. Everything was taken, or coerced, or manipulated in some way or another—at least from what he knew. That had been his only experience.

That's all he'd known inside of a romantic relationship.

But Aaron was standing right there, holding him close and asking for his _permission._

The fingers at his neck gently stroked along the skin and Aaron tilted his head, brows furrowing, "Spencer?"

"S-Sorry." He blinked out of his thoughts; he hadn't realized he'd zoned out. When he looked back up to Hotch there was deep concern in the man's eyes. "I don't know. I mean—I want to. I really do!" he made himself stop, take a deep breath and attempt to tamp down his panicked enthusiasm just a tad, "I mean, I want to, but...I'm just nervous..."

"It's alright," Aaron assured, his voice soft and soothing, understanding, "If you don't want to, or you aren't ready to then that's perfectly okay. You can say no, Spencer. You can say no and believe that your answer is law. I'll never force you to do anything you don't wanna do. Okay?"

He gave him a tiny nod as he continued to listen to Aaron's words, and tension he hadn't even realized he'd been harboring began to fade away.

"No matter what we do, or how far we go, if you say stop then everything stops." Hotch gave him a beautiful, thoughtful smile, "So, just know that I'd like to kiss you but not until and unless you want me to. We won't do anything—"

"Yes!" he blurted, stopping Hotch mid-sentence. He kind of startled himself with the volume and abruptness of his outburst, but Aaron was talking like he wasn't going to kiss him and that was the exact opposite of what he wanted. He ached to have those gorgeous lips on his. "Yes," he took another deep breath, steadying his voice as heat filled his cheeks, "Yes, Aaron...you can kiss me if you'd like. _Please._ "

"I'd very much like..." The thoughtful smile Hotch wore turned just a little sultry, and he watched as Aaron closed the distance between them, meeting their lips in a soft brush of a kiss that instantly made him go weak in the knees. Aaron didn't try to go any further, though, merely remaining right there with their mouths lightly pressed together, and he felt himself longing for more.

Careful and timid, he pressed his body forward until he was right up against Hotch, and he immediately sensed a warm hardness at his thigh.

A sensual moan filled the air and he could feel heat creeping from his cheeks down to his neck and chest.

Had he done that?

Did he make Aaron produce that gorgeously wicked sound?

Did Hotch think he was really that sexy?

That arousing?

If he didn't have tangible, and apparently very impressive evidence to back it up, he never would have believed it. The idea set the simmering heat low in his groin to a rolling boil, and he brought his arms up to wrap tightly around Aaron's neck, pulling him in closer. His mouth opened in eager invitation, which was readily accepted with a growl of desire that had his toes curling. Then a practiced tongue slipped inside, slow and gentle, tenderly exploring all the contours of his mouth.

Time seemed to stand still, freezing the moment, and he didn't know if he ever wanted it to start back up.

Everything was perfect.

Aaron's scent surrounded him, enveloped him, calmed him.

The hand in his hair held an easy pressure, keeping his head in place with its presence more than anything else, and Aaron's tongue continued to softly flick in and out, massaging his own.

He quickly gained confidence and began to copy the movement, invading Aaron's mouth in turn; and when he breached those soft lips and entered into smooth, wet heat he could taste the smallest hint of vanilla still tarrying from dessert.

It made him hungry for more.

The hand at the nape of his neck began to slowly slink down his body, fingers curling around the small of his back, tugging him infinitely closer.

He gasped when his arousal suddenly met Aaron's, and pleasure soared through him as his body involuntarily rocked into the touch.

He wanted to give in to all his desires—give everything, every single piece of him, to the man holding him. He yearned to know what it felt like to have Aaron Hotchner all over him...around him, above him, _inside_ him.

Exploring, tasting, taking.

Feeling every inch.

Hips pushed forward, forcing a long, low moan out of his throat as sparks of heat shot straight to his twitching cock...filling him, hardening him. His legs threatened to give way and he had to cling tighter to Aaron's neck to keep from falling.

Hotch gave one final zealous thrust of his tongue, devouring as much of Spencer's mouth as he possibly could, then pulled out, lingering against kiss swollen lips for just a moment longer.

There was a quick squeeze of his hair, then the hands holding him left and Hotch backed away slightly, opening up a small space between them and ending the embrace.

Much too soon.

They were both panting heavily; and Spencer, at least, was trembling with a heady mix of lust and want and need. From the look of Aaron's pupils, dark and blown wide, he surmised that Hotch was feeling the same way.

"That was, um, that was... _wow_ ," he breathlessly sighed.

"Why Dr. Reid, have I left you speechless?" Aaron teased, coming a step closer, invading his space once more.

He really didn't mind.

"Um, maybe," he smiled, still trying to catch his breath. He decided to throw caution to the wind and admit something that he would have never dared to do just a few days ago. He was feeling empowered, though, and high on endorphins...giddy with a rush of exuberance. "I've wondered for a very long time just how good you might be at that. Kissing, I mean," he paused and bit his lip, "I figured you'd be good, but I never thought I'd get the chance to find out through first hand experience."

He saw Aaron's cheeks turn a sweet shade of pink at the praise.

"Well then," Hotch playfully smirked, "Just how good am I?"

He wanted to tell him that the kiss had been everything he'd dreamt it would be and more.

That it had taken his breath away and made his heart skip a beat.

That it had been soft and tender and beautifully simple, yet amazingly intricate and complex at the same time.

That it had made him feel cherished, desired and sexy as fucking hell.

That it had been the best kiss he'd ever had, and that he hoped it wasn't the last.

He wanted to tell him all of that and so much more, but his words failed him, so he simply smiled at Aaron and whispered the only thing he could.

"Wow..."

.


	21. Uncle Penny

_I've made an art banner for this story if anyone's interested._

 _"Crystal Blue"_

 _It can be found over on Archive of Our Own under GhostInTheBAU. The link's on my FF profile page. :)  
_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One

Uncle Penny

.

The next morning Spencer sat at the table across from Jack and directly next to Aaron as they ate breakfast, funny shapes for the boy again; but eggs, bacon and toast for the adults this time. Apparently Hotch really liked to go all out on the weekends, cooking up a storm for breakfast on Saturdays and Sundays.

Spencer hadn't even known Aaron could cook before he came to live with him; the man had kept his talents well hidden.

Waking up to the savory scents and constant rummaging sounds of a busy kitchen made him feel warm and content in a way he hadn't in a very long time; not since before his father had left them and his mother's health had began to deteriorate. At one time, believe it or not, the Reid household had actually been happy...filled with family meals, laughter and nights spent on the couch watching classic movies—all three of them, together.

Sometimes he missed it, but he tried not to dwell on the loss. Being in Aaron's house had brought back some of those happy family memories, though, and he couldn't help but smile just a little.

So when he'd cracked his eyes open that morning and smelled freshly brewed coffee, sizzling bacon and eggs he'd immediately felt a warm, wonderful, fuzzy feeling deep in his chest; and when his mind fully woke up a minute later he'd remembered what had happened the night before, and he'd felt even better.

Spectacular, perhaps.

He'd remembered what had happened between him and Aaron—the kiss they'd shared in the office.

It had been amazing, and just thinking about it as he lay in bed, warm and comfortable, had made his toes curl and his body keen.

Made his hands want to roam.

For years, he'd wondered what it would be like to kiss Aaron Hotchner—to feel those smooth lips pressing up against his, have those big hands holding him close, hear that sultry velvet voice murmuring low in his ear as hot breath warmed his skin.

It hadn't been a disappointment, and it had most definitely been worth the wait.

To be honest, it very well may have been one of the best moments of his life...or at least of his adult life; and decidedly _the_ _best_ moment of his entire romantic experience, hands down.

It wasn't even a contest.

Aaron had been gentle and soft with him, yet passionate and demanding at the same time. He'd taken control of the kiss without Spencer feeling like he himself was being controlled; which, when he thought about it, was rather remarkable all on its own. There hadn't been a single moment during the embrace where he'd thought he couldn't get out of it if he'd wanted to, and that fact alone had made the intimacy so much more than he'd ever experienced before. There had been no pain or fear or worry. He could submit to Hotch and still be in control of what happened to his body, still know that he wouldn't be hurt or used or taken advantage of.

It was freeing, in a way, and he had Aaron to thank for his new found liberation.

After the kiss had ended and he'd regained his ability to speak, much to Aaron's delight, they'd said goodnight and gone to their separate bedrooms to sleep. A part of him had wanted to ask Hotch to stay in his room again, to hold him like he'd done the night before; but another part of him knew that wasn't the best idea right after sharing a kiss that had rocked his world and left him almost speechless. The metaphorical flood gates had been ripped opened with the intimate contact, and he knew that sharing a bed had the high likelihood of leading to other things. Very nice things, but things that probably shouldn't happen between them.

At least not yet.

So instead of asking a question he knew he shouldn't, he'd stayed quiet, given Aaron a slightly awkward hug laced with longing and desire, and headed to bed.

When he'd entered the kitchen this morning, he'd been greeted with a bright and dimpled smile as Aaron pulled him securely into his arms; then there'd been a soft peck on his cheek followed by a whispered, "Good morning, Sweetheart," in his ear that had made him blush and fall weak in the knees.

It was so horribly cliché, but he didn't care.

He'd absolutely loved it.

And now they were talking about what to do for the day. Once again, the team was off for the weekend, although this time they could get called in at a moment's notice if something came up. They weren't on stand down any longer. Aaron had insisted on making the most of the day despite that possibility though, and the three of them were shooting ideas off each other over their eggs and pancakes.

"We could go to the neighborhood park," Hotch suggested, looking to Jack, "Maybe take your soccer ball and kick it around a bit?"

"I'm terrible at sports," Reid mumbled, biting his lip and staring at the remnants of his fried eggs.

Going to the park sounded nice enough, though; especially since he hadn't left the house since Thursday morning. At least that would get him outside in the fresh air for a while and give him some vitamin D; and he wouldn't be alone.

"Then maybe you can be our referee."

He looked up at Aaron and saw a smug, teasing smile on his face.

"Well, I'll have you know I'd actually be a terrific referee," he boasted, "I may not be good at sports, but that doesn't mean I don't know all the rules and regulations. I probably know more about them than you do."

"Really?" Hotch asked, more shock in his tone than Spencer thought was truly necessary, to be honest.

"Yes, really."

"How?"

Aaron's shocked expression had turned into one of disbelief, and Spencer furrowed his brows. The man was messing with him, blatantly giving him a hard time; but the tone of voice he used let Spencer know he was only joking with him, and Reid tried to keep a straight face as he answered, matter-of-factly, "I read a book..."

"Of course you did," Aaron's gorgeous lips parted into a huge grin, lightly chuckling, "Why am I not surprised in the slightest by that answer?"

The two of them sat there glaring at each other for a few more moments, trying to see who would break first and look away; but as soon as Jack's excited voice pierced the silence Reid couldn't continue with the impromptu staring contest they'd entered into.

"I wanna see the Mummykill!"

He looked to Jack and smiled brightly at him, then took a moment to thoroughly enjoy the completely confused and perplexed expression plastered all over Hotch's face.

"The Mummy-what?" Aaron's brows rose to his hairline as he questioned his son.

"The Mumakil," Reid corrected with a grin, unable to hold his laugh in any longer. When Hotch just looked at him befuddled he took pity and tried to explain, "They're large creatures in Middle Earth that closely resemble elephants, although they are much, much bigger—40 to 50 feet in height. They were used as beasts of burden by the Haradrim during war times to carry archers and supplies. The Hobbits called them Oliphaunts." He took a deep breath, noticing how Aaron was leaning back in his chair listening contently to him as he rambled. No one was telling him to stop or quiet down; both Hotch and Jack were hanging on every word he said, and it made him feel giddy. He was in full on lecture mode as he met the boy's sparkling eyes, "Can you tell me any other ways they're different from elephants, Jack?"

"Ummmm," Jack's eyes shifted up to the ceiling, brows furrowed as he bit his lip in deep concentration, "They have six tusks instead of two?"

"Right," he smiled, then glanced back to Aaron, elaborating, "The two largest tusks are in the same place as an elephant's, then there's two smaller ones right below them, and the two very smallest ones are right above. They could hit up to _thirty_ riders with one swing of their head, and the two main tusks were usually adorned with spikes. As you can imagine, that would make for quite a deadly blow." He paused and brought his sights back to Jack, "And they weren't easily killed either, were they?"

"Nope!" the boy enthusiastically agreed, "The only way they could be killed was by an arrow to the eye."

"You are so good with him," Aaron mumbled, and Reid felt a hand come up to rest on his thigh.

When he looked back to Hotch he saw something in his eyes he couldn't quite place. It wasn't anything bad, really. At least, it didn't look like a bad thing to him.

Maybe it was a quiet appreciation, or a content happiness.

After a few moments the hand on his leg gave a gentle squeeze, causing him to blush, then moved away as Hotch let go and looked back to Jack.

"I don't think there's any place to see these Mumakil, buddy."

"Actually, Aaron...I mean, there's a place we could go to see the closest thing..." Reid looked at him and then over to Jack before murmuring, "We could ah, go out? To the zoo?"

"Yeah!" Jack beamed, wiggling excitedly in his chair, "Can we, Dad? Can we all go to the zoo today?"

"Spencer, I don't think that's a very good idea. After the last couple days, I really don't want you pushing yourself too much."

Aaron's tone had a slight edge to it that reminded him faintly of how the man had spoken to him outside Parker's house...

.

" _Alright, that's enough! I'm getting you out of here, Reid. It was way too soon for you to try and come back to this fucking house. We're leaving. Now."_

" _No!" He adamantly shook his head and struggled to get away as Aaron pulled him toward the SUV, "Aaron, I have to go in there! You—You don't...oh god, you don't fucking understand!"_

" _Dammit, Spencer, stop arguing with me!"_

.

He briefly closed his eyes, stilling his mind and willing away the vivid memory of Hotch manhandling him toward the car. He knew Aaron wouldn't hurt him, but the man's overbearingly protective side was starting to bubble back up and Spencer had to fight against a conditioned response to instantly comply. That's what he'd always done in the past when Parker would get angry with him...he'd give in just to avoid a confrontation.

It was a survival instinct, and it was one he no longer needed.

Hotch was right about the last two days, though; they had been rather difficult to say the least, but he couldn't hide inside the house forever. He'd tried to go out by himself and that had, admittedly, been a horrible mistake, but surely he'd be okay if he were with other people—if he were with Aaron and Jack.

Nothing could happen to him if Aaron was by his side.

Perhaps this was what he should have done the first time; he should have gone out with someone else instead of trying to do it alone. If he'd just waited, or let Hotch stop at the store on his way home from work like he'd wanted to, maybe he wouldn't have let his paranoia get the best of him. Maybe he wouldn't have completely freaked out and made a total fool of himself in front of a crowd of strangers.

"The first time I left the house I did it alone—and you were right, I should've listened to you and I should've stayed home. But I won't be alone this time." He hesitated for just a moment, debating back and forth with himself on whether or not he should do what he really wanted to do, then bit the bullet and went for it, reaching under the table and taking Aaron's hand, "This time, I'll have you with me." Hotch returned the embrace, looking into his eyes as though he was trying to determine if he was strong enough to handle an outing that public, and it made him prickle just a bit. "I'm not a child. I know I can do this. Obviously I realize I screwed it all up the last time, but I'm asking you to believe in me again. Give me another chance and let me try this, with you there. Please, Aaron, just believe in me."

"Spencer," Aaron's voice was thick with emotion, "I never want you to doubt that I believe in you. I do, more than you know. I believe in you with all that I am, and that's not gonna change because you stumble or fall. You're gonna struggle sometimes, and that's okay. It's okay because I also know you'll always pick yourself back up in the end. You'll always keep fighting. So know that I _do_ believe in you. I think you're remarkable and resilient and strong, and _extremely_ brave."

"Like a superhero!" Jack chimed in, and they both shot him a grin.

"Like a superhero," Hotch softly confirmed, nodding his head and chuckling as he thread their fingers together, "So...let's go to the zoo."

"Yessss!"

Jack bounced out of his chair and ran around the table to go get dressed. However, he stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes landed on Spencer and Aaron's joined hands. They'd been hidden from the boy's view when he'd been sitting across from them, but now they were on full display.

Reid's mind hadn't caught up to what Jack was looking at until he asked, without a hint of hesitation, "Dad, are you and Penny in love?"

Spencer's eyes shot wide open at the question.

He coughed on the breath he'd been taking, then choked and tried to pull his hand out of Aaron's grasp—thinking that if he severed the connection fast enough then somehow it would erase Jack's memory of what he'd just seen.

Absurd.

That thought was completely and utterly absurd.

And it didn't matter anyway because Aaron wouldn't let go of his hand, no matter how hard he pulled at it. He was stuck in a stunned silence by the loaded question, and he had no idea how to go about answering it. Yes, he truly believed he was in love with Aaron, but he didn't in any way expect Hotch to feel the same way.

Not yet.

Hopefully someday.

Luckily, Hotch wasn't quite as taken aback by the situation or the question, so he did all the talking.

"Buddy, Penny and I care about each other a lot," he glanced toward Reid for just a moment before meeting his son's gaze again, "We like spending time together, and we're getting to know one another better."

"But you've known each other for a really long time already."

"Yes," he nodded, and Reid just continued to gently tug at his hand, to no avail, "But that was through work. This is a little bit different. It's more personal."

"Have you two kissed?"

Jack's face showed no emotion whatsoever as he asked the question, and Spencer's heart began to race even more. They hadn't really talked about what to tell Jack. They were supposed to be waiting until their relationship had progressed to a more intimate level before having a conversation about it with all three of them.

But things between them _had_ progressed, as of last night.

Perhaps now _was_ the right time.

He was still excruciatingly nervous about the prospect of telling Jack that he was involved with his father, though. He knew Aaron would immediately put a stop to everything if his son had a problem with them being together.

Rightfully so, of course.

Jack should always come first.

But the thought that whatever they were doing could possibly stop before it had really even truly began had his chest aching with a sharp, stinging sorrow.

The hand keeping his captive held on a little tighter.

"Yeah, buddy, we've kissed."

Aaron was being completely open and honest with Jack, and the only thing Spencer seemed to be able to do was sit there trying not to hyperventilate as he attempted to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.

Jack's eyes darted between them for a moment, then landed back on their joined hands, "Have you guys done...other things?"

Good grief, this kid was a better interrogator than the whole BAU combined. He heard Aaron start to laugh, and he shot him an incredulous look.

This wasn't funny.

Not even a little bit.

This was mortifying and uncomfortable—and also very, very important.

It was one of the most important conversations he could imagine, really.

And Hotch was _laughing._

"No, buddy," Aaron shook his head, still holding Reid's hand. He rubbed calming circles over the back of it, "Maybe someday we will, but not right now."

His heart skipped a beat at Aaron's words. Cliché again, yes, but he truly believed he felt his heart stop for a second before it picked back up.

 _Maybe someday_.

He liked the sound of that.

He'd definitely done his fair share of thinking about other things they could do together, but hearing Aaron actually acknowledge the possibility of those other things coming to fruition excited him.

It also scared him just a little.

He'd only been romantically involved with one other person, and that relationship had been nothing short of detrimental to his psyche. He'd opened up and allowed Parker to horribly abuse him, so it was a bit unnerving to think about putting himself in such a vulnerable position with another man again.

Although, he truly did trust Aaron with his life.

He hoped that when _maybe someday_ came he'd be ready.

"Well," Jack continued, his voice slow and calm as his lips curved up into a dimpled grin that rivaled his father's, "I hope you guys get married someday!"

At that, the boy turned and ran up the stairs, giggling incessantly as he went.

Reid just sat there staring at the place Jack had vacated, his mind a jumbled mess of _what the fuck, did that really just happen, oh my god_.

"Spencer, how badly are you freaking out right now?"

"Hm?" He blinked and pulled his gaze back to Hotch. The man was beaming brightly at him, a huge smile on his face—but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Spencer thought he saw a hint of anxiety swirling in their depths, and he wanted to ease that away. "I'm not freaking out," he denied.

"No? 'Cause you kind of look like you're about to run for the hills."

"Oh, um..." he closed his eyes and shook his head, huffing out a breath, "Okay...I might be freaking out, but only a little." He looked back toward the stairs, motioning to where Jack had disappeared, "He, um, doesn't seemed phased at all by the idea of two men being together. Romantically."

"No," Hotch quickly agreed, "Haley and I tried our best to instill in him the idea that anyone can be in love; it doesn't matter who they are—boys or girls or boys _and_ girls. We wanted him to know that he could be free to love whoever he wanted and not worry about being accepted by his parents. We'd love him no matter what. That's something she and I never fought over; we were in complete and total agreement."

"I see," he sighed, bringing his other hand up to cover their two joined ones.

He wondered how many more wonderful things he was going to learn about Aaron Hotchner, because he was already pretty blown away by how incredible the man was. This only helped to solidify his perception.

Aaron and Jack were beautifully perfect, at least as far as he was concerned.

"You're amazing, you know that, right?" he murmured, "You're both absolutely amazing..."

"Well," Aaron squeezed his hand, "We're in very good company."

* * *

Two hours later found the three of them standing in front of the entrance to the zoo. The drive over had been okay, still a bit nerve-wracking, but he'd managed to breathe through most of his anxiety and Hotch had only mumbled something about turning around once—which had mainly been said to himself.

Spencer appreciated the effort.

Knowing his ex was actually out of jail now, free to go wherever he pleased whenever he pleased didn't help with his jumpiness. Every time they'd passed a red car on the way over he'd had to examine it carefully to make sure it wasn't a Civic and that it wasn't Parker's. He'd had to make sure they weren't being followed, especially with Jack in the car. His mind kept flashing back to the horrible nightmare he'd had...

.

" _I killed your fucking boss_ and _that brat son of his...Jack, isn't it?"_

" _They both died because of you, Spencer._ It's all your fucking fault!"

.

He couldn't be the reason Jack was put in danger, or Aaron for that matter.

He just couldn't.

He had to keep them both safe.

Every once in a while he'd noticed Aaron glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, no doubt concerned about his mental state. He couldn't blame him, not really. He knew he'd been acting squirrely ever since they'd gotten in the car, he just couldn't help it. It was like a nervous tick. He'd tried several times to reassure Hotch with a smile, but he didn't know if it'd worked all that well.

None of that mattered now, though, because they'd made it. They were here, and all his anxiety vanished when a little blond boy ran up to them, a huge grin plastered on his face and excitement sparkling in his baby blue eyes.

He'd called JJ last minute to see if she and Henry wanted to join them. It was a spur of the moment decision, but he missed his godson terribly; and now that he was feeling better and didn't look quite so scary he thought the zoo would be the perfect place to spend a little time with him.

Henry loved seeing all the animals and listening to him rattle off information about each one as they passed by their enclosures. He used to bring the boy at least once a month, just the two of them, and it was something he'd always looked forward to. He hadn't been able to do that lately, though; especially over the last few months.

It had become increasingly difficult for him to do anything outside of work that didn't involve Parker to some extent.

He hoped he'd be able to start their zoo trips again soon, now that he was free to do whatever he wanted.

"Uncle Spence! Uncle Spence!"

Instantly he felt his body tense up at the name.

 _That_ name.

It sounded so cute and sweet and innocent coming from Henry's happy little voice, and he tried his absolute best to smile at the ball of energy running toward him, but he could still feel himself beginning to unravel.

His body went cold and his mind began to slip away from him, trying to drag him along with it.

He clutched desperately onto Aaron's arm, begging—pleading to remain grounded in reality.

His legs felt numb, and he looked up into chocolate brown eyes at the same moment that strong arms circled around him.

Then his whole world faded away...

.

" _I missed you," he murmured._

" _Fuck, Spence, I missed you too." A hand ran through his hair, fingers gently tugging his head back, "You have no idea how much I missed you, baby..."_

 _Tongue and lips and teeth worked together, hotly kissing up and down his neck, sending a shiver of pleasure coursing through his body. That pleasure turned into a pulsing heat deep in his cock; he ached for more as he rocked down against Parker._

 _Hard flesh met his, and he groaned at the tantalizing feel of it._

 _They had entirely too many clothes on...he was desperate to be rid of them._

" _Please, Park..." he half begged, half purred, "I want you to take me to bed..."_

 _Hands grabbed tightly to his ass and a growl erupted from the man below him. He was quickly lifted up off the couch, and he yelped at the sudden change in position, wrapping his arms and legs around Parker as he was eagerly carried into their bedroom._

.

"Not again," he cried, clinging to the body around him, "Please, I don't want this...I don't wanna be here..."

.

 _Parker stripped Spencer's clothes off him and laid him down on the bed; then he watched hungrily as the man began to shed his own shirt, letting it drift to the floor._

 _Crystal blue eyes never left his, and he dared not look away. Instead, he brought his hand down and began to slowly stroke along his throbbing length, thrusting into his own hand as his arousal grew._

 _Before he knew what happened, Park was on him, straddling his hips and snatching both his wrists away, halting his ministrations._

" _No you don't, Spence," he chided, "You don't get to touch."_

" _Park, please," he whined, trying to fight against the firm hold, "I need it. I wanna feel you...all over."_

" _Oh, don't you worry about that, lover," Parker crooned, leaning down and licking a stripe from Spencer's neck to his ear, "I'm gonna be all over every inch of you." Soft fabric wrapped around his wrists, then his hands were yanked above his head and fastened securely to the headboard. "I'll go in so deep..." Park paused, and suddenly he felt a finger at his entrance, teasing him; he gasped at the sensation. "Is that what you want, baby?" Parker purred, "Do you want me to sink in deep?"_

" _Park..." he bit his lip, writhing and pulling uselessly at the restraints, "Yes! Please please please..."_

" _Please what?" the man growled, the tip of his finger_ right fucking there _, "What do you want me to do, Spence? Tell me."_

" _Please," he sighed, shuddering, "I want...I want you to fuck me. Right now."_

 _There was a chuckle, then that teasing finger pushed past the tight ring of muscle and thrust in deep, twisting as it sunk into his tight heat. Pleasure soared through his body and he arched up, a keening moan catching in his throat._

" _What a filthy little thing you are..."_

.

He was back in Parker's arms—in Parker's bed—and he felt bile rising up his throat. He didn't want this, not at all, but for some reason he fucking thought he did. It was confusing and jumbled and he had no idea how to get out.

How to get away.

Heat shot through him, erotic and sick at the same time.

He moaned, unsure whether it was out of pure pleasure or absolute pain, then the arms around him tightened.

Parker's arms?

They didn't quite feel the same.

There was a voice in his ear, warm and smooth and loving.

Calming and serene.

It was beautiful and gentle, so it couldn't be Parker's.

Definitely not.

Aaron's, then.

The voice had to belong to Aaron; nothing else sounded that lovely.

"You're safe, Sweetheart. I've got you and you're safe. Just breathe. I need you to calm down and come back to me. Please."

He heard a tiny whimper leave his mouth—at least, he thought it was from him—then his surroundings came rushing back in a swirling flood of noise and color.

Everything seemed too loud, too bright, too confusing.

It was difficult to focus, so he shut his eyes and tried to still his body and his mind.

He heard a woman's voice...JJ, it had to be JJ. She was saying something in the distance, and he also recognized Henry asking if Uncle Spencer was okay.

Something—or someone—was hugging his leg. He assumed that was probably Jack.

A man was asking him if he needed to sit down. Not Aaron, though. It was a Cajun accent, right next to him.

Will.

Will was there.

Then he heard another man speak.

Aaron again.

That voice was Aaron's.

"Spencer, can you look at me?"

"O-Okay," he whispered, frantically nodding his head, "Yeah...okay."

Slowly, he reopened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was Aaron's gentle face staring right back at him. It was one of the most gorgeous sights he'd ever seen, and he felt like it was a tether pulling him away from the brink of total madness, bringing him back to safety and security.

Back to Aaron's soothing presence.

His body calmed and relief crashed over him when he realized he wasn't with Parker again; that the arms holding him didn't belong to the man who'd hurt him.

They belonged to the one he truly loved.

Aaron's arms were around him, and he leaned into the embrace, resting his forehead against the other man's.

He never wanted to be in anyone else's arms again.

"Hey, beautiful," Hotch softly murmured, a smile on his face but worry filling his eyes.

"Hey," he sighed, pulling back just enough to give him a shaky smile.

He glanced around to all the people walking by, oblivious to his struggle as they passed them. At least he hadn't made a complete fool of himself to total strangers this time.

Only to his friends.

"I am so, so sorry!" JJ apologized profusely. He noticed how careful she was being, trying not to get too close to him, "We talked to Henry about calling you Uncle _Spencer_ , but he was so excited when he saw you that he must have forgotten."

"Yeah, Reid," Will added beside him, "We're sorry, man. He's just been so excited to see ya."

"I'm okay," he nodded, looking to Will and JJ before meeting Aaron's gaze once more, "Really, I'm...um, I think I'm okay now."

He'd stopped trembling the moment he'd seen Aaron, and he seemed to regain his bearings much faster after this flashback than he had in the past. It still wasn't ideal, of course—he'd much prefer not to have them at all—but it was a definite improvement. He was slowly getting better, he just needed to keep trying.

He was okay with that.

Looking around, he searched for Henry and found him hiding behind his mother's legs, several tears running down his pale little cheeks. The sight pulled at his heart. He wanted to comfort him, make sure he knew he hadn't done anything wrong and that everything was okay, so after giving Aaron one final smile to let him know he was alright he pulled out of the man's hold and crouched down to his knees.

"Hey, Kiddo, it's alright. I'm fine, see?" he tried to keep a smile on his face as he addressed Henry, "Will you come here? Will you come over here and see me?"

He waited for a minute, and soon blue eyes cautiously peeked out at him from the refuge of JJ's pants, little fingers continuing to grip tightly to her leg. When Reid got a better look at him, it broke his heart. There was shame and sorrow written all over his face...in his frown and his sad eyes, and in the tiny quiver of his chin. The boy was about to burst into tears.

"Please...please don't be sad, Hen. Don't cry—" Reid's voice broke, his arms aching with need to hold his godson. He felt a hand rest gently on his shoulder and he knew immediately that it was Aaron, giving him silent strength and support. He pooled from that and took a deep breath, then gave Henry another smile, "I'm—I'm just not feeling super great right now, that's all. I've been a little sick, but I'm getting better and I really wanted to see you. So, will you please come over here and see me? I could really use one of those great big, super special, amazingly strong bear hugs you're so good at giving."

A tiny smile graced Henry's face at that, and then he was running full speed into Spencer's outstretched arms. Reid wrapped the boy up and held him tight, burying his head in Henry's shoulder, breathing in the sweet scent as he let a few of his own tears start to fall.

It felt like a piece of him had been lost, but now it was back.

His chest squeezed painfully when a tiny voice crept into his ear.

"I'm sorry I made you sad."

"Oh, you didn't make me sad." He backed away just enough to cradle Henry's head between his hands, wiping tear tracks from the boy's face. "I promise, you did absolutely nothing wrong, Hen," he whispered, "I missed you sooo much."

"I missed you too, Uncle Spencer."

It felt odd to hear Henry call him Uncle Spencer. He was so used to the other; and it just didn't sound right. Maybe he could come up with a solution, something that didn't sound as strange to his ears when he heard it. Something that would make Henry happy as well.

He pulled him back in for one more hug and then looked over to Jack, who was standing by Aaron, "Jackie, would you mind if Henry used the special name you gave me, too?"

Jack looked up to his dad for a moment then back to Spencer, a small grin forming on his lips, "I guess not." He walked closer to them and started nodding his head at Henry, "That'd be pretty cool. It can be, like, our special name."

Henry gave them both a quizzical look, "What special name?"

Reid glanced to Aaron for a moment, then over to Will and JJ, who'd been watching the entire interaction before bringing his eyes back to the kids, "Well, Jack here likes to call me Penny."

There was a tiny giggle, "But that's a girl's name!"

Maybe it was, but he didn't really care. It had been given to him by Jack after a lot of careful thought and consideration, and that made it extraordinarily special to him.

He loved it.

"I think it could be for either," he calmly smiled, "So what do you say, Hen? Will Uncle Penny work for you?"

"Yeah," Henry smiled over to Jack and then back to Reid, wrapping his arms around Spencer's neck, "I really missed you, Uncle Penny."

"I really missed you too, Hen."

As he was holding her son Reid noticed a tear fall from JJ's eye, but she quickly wiped it away, sniffling as Will draped a comforting arm around her shoulders.

He felt horrible for putting all of his friends through this...making them change how they acted around him, what they called him. They shouldn't have to do that, and neither should he.

It wasn't fair.

That name had been given to him by JJ, and at one time she'd been the only person in the entire world who called him that. Over the years others had picked up on it and used it now and then, but it was JJ's name for him first.

Until Parker came into his life.

For some reason the man loved to call him that. He'd destroyed it, tainted it, and now Spencer couldn't even hear it without losing himself. That name forced him back into Parker's arms every single time it was spoken.

It used to be special.

Maybe Penny could be special now.

He was brought out of his musings by a hand on his back, and he turned to see Aaron kneeling down next to him and the boys. He realized he was surrounded by people he loved, and who loved him in return. These people—Aaron and Jack; Will, JJ and Henry; Morgan, Emily, Garcia and Rossi—he knew they would all stand by him through whatever lay ahead...because he also knew the storm wasn't over.

His fight wasn't going to end any time soon.

There would be more challenges—more obstacles for him to face, more demons to beat. He could do it, though, because they were his anchor, keeping him grounded and safe.

But most importantly, they were his family.

He hummed softly in contentment, gesturing for Aaron to help him up, and once he was back on his feet he let out a relieved sigh. His aches and pains were much less, but it was still difficult to get up from a sitting position.

"Are we ready to go in?" JJ softly asked, stroking her hand through Henry's long hair.

"Lead the way," he motioned to the entrance and they all started to make their way over.

Once they were inside the walls of the zoo, Spencer gave them instructions on where to go and they headed straight for the elephant enclosure. He'd memorized the map of the park for easy navigation whenever he brought Henry.

He watched as the two boys ran up ahead, making sure to keep a close eye on them at all times. Aaron and Will were beginning to lag behind a bit, no doubt talking about his case if he had to guess. Morgan had ended up taking Parker to Will's precinct that fateful Saturday, so the man knew pretty much all the details. He tried not to think about that, though. There'd already been enough drama for one day, and he really didn't want any more.

After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, he found himself walking comfortably with JJ at his side, the kids up ahead and Hotch and Will behind.

"You look good," she started, then stopped walking and turned him so she could examine his face a little more thoroughly. He let her hand come up and brush along the cut on his temple, closing his eyes for a minute so he wouldn't have to see the sad look on her face. The steristrips had fallen off a couple days before and the skin was healing, but it itched terribly. He opened his eyes when she spoke again, her tone motherly, "But how are you doing? How are you really feeling?"

They resumed their walk along the trail as he thought about the question. He debated whether or not he should just say he was fine and leave it at that, but she _was_ a profiler. She'd never believe it, especially after what had happened at the entrance. So instead of trying to deflect, he decided to just be open and honest about everything.

That was what he was supposed to do, right?

That's what Aaron wanted him to do.

Talk to other people.

Open up.

"I'm doing okay, I guess. But, um, I've been a little...jumpy?" he bit his lip and thought about the word for a minute. He didn't know if that was exactly the right word, or if he was trying to sugar coat it. "Paranoid," he finally decided, giving her a sad smile, "Yeah, that's how I'm feeling. Jumpy and paranoid."

"Well, that's kind of to be expected," she supplied, "It's a normal response after everything you went through."

"Oh I know," he nodded. That was the same thing Aaron kept telling him, too—over and over—how _normal_ it all was. He knew it was true, intellectually, he was just tired of it. He was tired of hearing how normal he was...how normal it _all_ was. "I know it's normal, JJ, but I've been having more flashbacks, and I've started having...nightmares. About him. And this whole week I thought someone was watching me."

He paused, swallowing down a heavy lump forming in his throat. He hated talking about any of this, but he knew it would be good for him to get it out. When JJ linked her arm in his and pulled him closer he went willingly, enjoying the tangible presence and support of one of his best and closest friends.

"Even when he was still in jail I thought I saw him," he frowned as the words left his lips. They made him sound insane. "I went to the store and I thought he was there. I—I thought he was stalking me..."

He stopped again, his thoughts making him feel a little queasy. He needed to sit, regain his bearings and clear his head, so he moved over to a bench on the side of the trail. JJ followed without hesitation, their arms still linked, and sat beside him. He glanced up to see Aaron and Will moving closer, their pace quickening—probably to catch up to the boys since he and JJ weren't watching them any longer.

Hotch gave him a smile as they passed by, and a silent look that he interpreted as _I'm here if you need me, but I understand that you need to talk to your friend_.

The man always seemed to know what he needed; it was kind of amazing that Aaron could read him so well.

"It's absurd," he quickly continued, bringing his attention back to JJ, "Obviously I know he's not really following me. He was locked up until yesterday. There's no way he could have been watching me all week."

"But it still feels like he is," she concluded.

"Yeah. Like I said—paranoid and jumpy." His stomach churned and his chest tightened at the confession, "Do you think that makes me crazy, JJ?"

"Oh, Reid, no." She pulled him into a hug, cupping the back of his head with her hand and murmuring in his ear, "You're not crazy, Spencer. Please, don't ever think that. You were hurt, and you're dealing with that trauma, but you won't always feel this way." They broke apart and he gave her a shaky smile as she added, "But we're always gonna be here for you if you need anything. No matter what."

"I just kind of feel like a burden," he mumbled, "I don't wanna keep bothering everyone with my screwed up delusions—"

"Spencer," she stopped him, making sure he was looking directly at her before she continued, "You are _not_ a burden. Do you hear me?" She didn't say anything else, just sat there staring at him with wide, intense eyes. He figured he should probably acknowledge what she'd said, so he quickly nodded. Once he did, her glare morphed into something a bit softer and much less scary, "Please, Spencer, don't ever think you're a burden to us. We all want to help you because we care about you, and we love you."

"Yeah," he sighed, "I guess maybe I'm starting to realize that."

"And, um," she hesitated, giving him a sly grin, "I'm pretty sure Hotch doesn't think you're a burden. I think he's pretty happy you're staying with him..."

"Wh-What?"

Instantly he felt shaky and nervous. Heat rose in his cheeks and his heart began to pound anxiously, filling his ears with the loud roar of blood flow. He was embarrassed and self-conscious, and he had no idea how to react to the statement—how to respond.

"Oh come on, Reid," she gave him a playful smirk, "I heard what he called you earlier. _Sweetheart?_ And _beautiful?"_

"H-He was just trying to comfort me," he adamantly protested, scoffing as he ran trembling fingers through his hair, "He wanted to make sure I was okay. That's all that was."

He knew that was a lame excuse, and completely unbelievable. Since when did Aaron Hotchner comfort team members by hugging them and calling them _Sweetheart?_

Never, that's when.

But he'd freaked out at the question. He wasn't sure if anyone was supposed to know about them, about whatever it was they were doing together. Hell, _he_ didn't even really know what they were doing. She'd caught him off guard and he was flustered and confused and fidgety.

"He was comforting you?"

He looked back to her, disbelief obvious in her tone and in the way her brows quirked up at him.

"Mhm," he hummed, wringing his hands together.

"It seemed like a lot more than that to me..."

"Maybe," he sighed, then caught the slip. "I mean, wait—" he stuttered, his thoughts rattled, "Wait, it seemed like more than what?"

"Calm down, Spencer," she laughed, a gentle hand patting his arm, "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, but you're my best friend and I need to say a few things, if it's alright."

He gave her a silent nod, anxiously waiting for her to speak her mind.

"Hotch is a good man." She grabbed his hand and held on, rubbing soothing circles along his skin, "He's brave and strong and commanding, but also kind and gentle. The perfect knight in shining armor type, you know? He cares about all of us and he loves Jack with everything he is. He's a wonderful father, and he's trustworthy and dependable, and _totally_ gorgeous..."

"JJ..." he interrupted her, "Does Will know about your crush on our boss?"

He was partly joking and partly trying to calm himself down.

"Oh, yeah," she chuckled, "I go on and on to him about Hotch _and_ Morgan all the time. He's very understanding."

The playfulness helped him relax and he gave her a small smile.

"In all seriousness, though," she continued, "It's clear to me that you both care a great deal for one another. He's one of the good ones, and I can see how it'd be hard not to fall for him. But Spencer, you need to realize that you're one of the good ones, too. You're both amazing, and I think you both deserve each other, when the time's right. Just promise me you'll take things slow with him. Make sure you're really ready before you jump into anything too serious. Okay?"

"Um, okay." He didn't know what else to say. JJ was being extremely up front about her feelings, but also very approving, and it made him feel warm and comfortable. Made him feel accepted. "We're not really doing anything, though, um," his brows furrowed, then his lips quirked up in a shy grin, "Well, not much of anything. To be honest, I don't know what we're doing; but I do know that I love being around him. He makes me feel safe and special and...wanted. I can let my guard down when he's near. I trust him, and being with him makes me happy."

"Good," she whispered, squeezing his hand as a tear fell down her cheek, "Because you deserve to be happy Spencer. You both do," she smiled, "And if being together makes you happy then I'm behind you one hundred percent. I love you."

"I love you too, JJ."

After one more hug and a few minutes to dry their eyes they caught up to the rest of the group, and the next several hours were spent going from enclosure to enclosure while Reid imparted vast amounts of knowledge on each animal to two very excited and curious little boys. They all had a picnic lunch next to the monkeys and shared a funnel cake while watching the sea lion show. When they went to pet the sting rays JJ flat out refused to get close, even when Reid assured her they didn't have their barbs. Jack, on the other hand, was so excited that he almost fell into the pool with them.

A day that had started out a bit rocky and tumultuous had turned into something relaxing and comfortable, full of fun and laughter. He was outside, spending time in the real world with people that he loved and he was wholeheartedly enjoying every minute of it. It was absolutely refreshing, and pretty much exactly what he'd needed.

About halfway through their lunch was when it'd happened—when he'd realized he'd started to feel more like his old self.

More like the person he'd been before he'd ever even met Parker Simmons.

He was Dr. Spencer Reid again.

At least for the day.

And it felt amazing.

.


	22. Cinnamon

_Mind the warnings._

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cinnamon

.

By the time they arrived home, all three of them were completely exhausted. After a full day at the zoo, they'd decided to stop for dinner with Will, JJ and Henry, and now the only thing Spencer could really think about was crawling into bed and passing out.

Jack had actually gotten a pretty good head start on that part, falling asleep in the car, and Aaron had carried him inside. Before Hotch could finish tucking him into bed, though, he'd woken up asking for a story; and Spencer had mustered just enough energy to read one chapter to him.

The boy had fallen back to sleep at the very end, and Reid quietly placed the book on the bedside table before slipping out of the room.

When he turned from the door, he ran right into Aaron, who'd been quietly loitering in the hallway.

"I'm so sorry!" he whispered, careful not to wake up Jack, "What the heck are you doing standing right in front of the door?"

"I was waiting for you," Aaron whispered back, his hands coming up to pull Spencer into his arms, "I didn't want you going to sleep before I got to tell you goodnight."

The sensual tone to the man's voice had Reid instantly leaning further in, chest to chest, their eyes locking as he watched Aaron's head bow down to meet their lips. He melted into the kiss, opening up and allowing Aaron's tongue to slip inside...coaxing it deeper with a flick of his own when it lingered teasingly at his lips. His fingers curled around Aaron's hips, and the arms holding him tightened, bringing their bodies into firmer contact. He moaned at the feel of shared arousal, which was followed quickly by a growl from Hotch; then those strong hands were slinking up along his back...following the curve of his spine until they tangled into his hair. There was a gentle tug on the roots as the kiss grew more heated—more frantic.

Unfortunately Hotch broke the embrace much sooner than he would have liked, pulling away and leaving him breathless, trembling and wanted for so much more.

"Goodnight, Spencer," Aaron smugly smirked, brushing a finger across Reid's lower lip, "I'll see you in the morning."

"Oh," he sighed, nodding his head, "Um, okay."

Ever the wordsmith.

He watched as Hotch moved to the master bedroom and softly closed the door. For the second night in a row, Aaron had left him slightly speechless.

He wasn't about to complain.

He was rather enjoying all the new attention he was getting from the older man. He could still hardly believed it was all real, that Aaron actually wanted him—wanted to be with _him._ It was exciting and thrilling and unexpected.

Smiling, he went to his own room, tucked himself into bed and grabbed Spike, snuggling the dinosaur close as he closed his eyes and thought about the day they'd just spent together. The trip to the zoo had been amazing—after he'd gotten over the initial speed bump at the entrance. Seeing Henry and being able to spend time with him like he used to had greatly lifted his spirits; and actually holding his godson in his arms had filled an emptiness in him that he hadn't even realized was there.

The day had been exactly what he'd needed.

The best kind of medicine.

Aaron and Jack brought him so much joy and happiness, more than he could've ever imagined, and Hen just added to it, magnifying that happiness in his own special way.

Seeing JJ had also been good for him. Talking with her had enabled him to say some things out loud that he'd only ever said to Aaron, and it felt nice to release them—get them off his chest and out in the open. He hadn't planned on her finding out there was anything going on between him and their boss, though.

That had surprised him, but it really shouldn't have. Not after how Aaron had reacted to his flashback. He'd been slightly out of it when the man had wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close.

Very close.

But even though he'd been out of it he'd still known Hotch was holding him intimately in a public place. Aaron hadn't attempted to hide their interaction at all; he'd simply been there for him, present in the moment because that's what he'd needed.

Aaron had pulled him back from the brink.

Kept him safe.

Needless to say, it had been quite obvious that _something_ was happening between the two of them, and JJ's supportive reaction was less than anticipated. In a way it kind of made him feel excited to know someone else knew about them, whatever _they_ were.

Whatever they were doing.

It made it seem a little more real and a little less like a fantasy he'd created in his mind.

He finally felt like things were moving in the right direction. He'd made a giant leap forward in his recovery simply by being outside, being out in public, with actual people. He'd been surrounded by strangers all day long and he hadn't freaked out.

Not completely, anyway.

Even after his episode with Henry he'd been able to come back to himself much faster than usual, and he'd had the mental faculties he'd needed to soothe the boy and make sure he was alright.

He'd felt like his old self again, at least for a little while; and the thought that he could get back to the way he used to be had him grinning from ear to ear.

He had hope again.

Hope that Spencer Reid wasn't gone forever.

In that moment, everything was absolutely perfect in his world, and he fell into an easy and peaceful sleep.

* * *

Spencer shot straight up in bed with a strangled cry, gasping for a breath he couldn't quite catch. He was suffocating, drenched in cold sweat, heart hammering viciously in his chest. His body shook so violently he was afraid he'd fall if he tried to stand; and when he closed his eyes, all he saw were crystal blue ones leering down at him from above.

He could still feel the heavy weight of a naked body covering him, looming over him, rutting against him.

Harsh and hard.

Pinching, biting, clawing.

That fucking voice still echoed in his head...

.

" _This is where you'll always belong...right here...beneath me."_

.

" _Do you like it when I fuck you senseless, baby? When I sink in deep...where no one else has ever been...where no one else will ever be? Only me?"_

.

" _No one's ever gonna wanna touch you...not after this."_

.

" _I'll fucking kill you if you ever try to leave me, Spence."_

.

He closed his eyes, trying to get the vision out of his mind, trying to silence the twisted voice. He didn't want to remember how it felt to have Parker above him...forcing his way inside. He didn't want to remember how much it hurt. He didn't want to keep reliving it, he just wanted to forget.

"It wasn't real," he mumbled to himself, "It was just a dream. Of course it was just a dream...Parker's not here. He doesn't even know where you are. It was only a dream. Everything's fine, and you're okay. You're okay and you're safe."

He took a deep breath, then eased it out, feeling the trembling in his body start to lessen as his heartbeat slowed. He repeated the mantra over and over in his head as his hands fisted into the sheets.

 _You're okay, you're safe, and everything's fine._

"You're okay, and safe, and everything's fine," he whispered aloud, brows furrowing, "He doesn't know where you are. It was just a dream..."

He tried to stop himself from thinking that the nightmare he'd just had was a huge setback, atrophying any progress he thought he'd made.

It was a difficult task.

He'd had such a good day, an _amazing_ day; so why the hell did his mind have to terrorize him in his sleep? It didn't make any sense, and he wondered if somehow his subconscious was trying to keep him as fucked up as possible.

Maybe he didn't really want to get better.

He felt himself growing anxious at the thought so he quickly shut it down.

That was absolutely absurd. There was no way he'd _want_ to feel like this. No one would want this...no matter how much attention and affection they were getting from the man they had a crush on.

Right?

Rolling onto his side, he hugged Spike close and buried his head into his pillow.

He needed to stop over analyzing himself and just go back to sleep.

He could do that.

It'd be easy.

He'd just close his eyes and go back to sleep, and things would be better in the morning.

Half an hour later, however, he was still wide awake and growing more restless by the minute. His mind didn't want to settle; he couldn't clear out the thoughts running through his head.

The last time he'd had a nightmare like this he'd woken up to Aaron looking down at him, voice soft and comforting to his ears. Hotch had been right there, helping to calm him, telling him everything was okay and that his fears weren't his reality. He'd stayed with him and held him close, kept him safe and warm and protected. Being in Aaron's arms had allowed him to completely relax and sleep soundly for the rest of the night.

It had been one of the best night's sleep he'd had in a while, and his body was screaming out for that same contact again. That same comfort. He feared he'd be up until morning if he didn't have Aaron's arms around him.

If he didn't have the man's scent surrounding him.

Or that gorgeous voice whispering in his ear.

Aaron wasn't there, though. He was lucky enough to actually be asleep—in his _own_ bedroom and in his _own_ bed, separate from Spencer's yet so very close at the same time.

Hotch was right down the hall, after all.

Just a few feet away.

But he couldn't possibly go in there. He couldn't just waltz into Aaron's room without being asked and surprise him out of his sleep.

That was a good way to get himself shot, really.

He needed to stay right where he was; however, as quick as the thought had popped into his head he was up and out of bed, heading toward the door to do the exact opposite. He had no idea what he was going to do or say once he arrived in Aaron's room, but he did know that he had to see him.

He needed to smell his scent, feel his body, hear his voice.

It was like a physical ache in his bones.

A necessity.

He slipped out of his room and crept down the hallway as stealthy as he possibly could to keep from waking Jack, although according to Hotch the boy was a heavy sleeper.

When he came to Aaron's door he stopped and regarded it seriously for just a moment, wondering what on earth he was actually doing.

Aaron would think he was crazy for sure after this.

That thought did little to deter him, though, and he softly opened the door to tip toe inside.

It was dark, of course, but he could make out the outline of Aaron's body on the bed. He really hoped Hotch didn't sleep with some sort of weapon under his pillow, because if he did, this could end rather badly. He nervously laughed to himself at all the possible outcomes, cataloging them by level of severity, then swallowed thickly as he moved to the side of the bed.

"Aaron?" he whispered.

The reply he got was a muffled grunt, and he started to immediately have second thoughts about barging into Hotch's bedroom. He had no place being in here; this wasn't his home. This was Aaron's personal space, and he was intruding on it without the other man's consent.

That thought made him a little sick to his stomach. The last thing he ever wanted to do was make someone else feel the same way he'd been made to feel.

Violated.

Maybe he didn't really need sleep tonight. It wasn't like he had anything important to do the next day that required him to be well rested. He could just read, or clean, or watch some TV. Or perhaps he could work on one of his papers. He hadn't so much as opened any of the documents since everything had happened.

He had plenty of options to keep him occupied until morning, surely he could figure out something to do.

Something that didn't involve disturbing Aaron.

With his mind made up, he slowly turned to leave; but he only got a few steps away before he stopped again, freezing at the sound of his name filling the quiet stillness of the room.

"Spencer?"

He internally cringed when he realized he'd indeed woken Hotch up, although that had kind of been his initial goal to begin with. Timidly he turned back around to face the bed, seeing Aaron's silhouette perched up on an elbow as he inched a little closer.

"Yeah...um, hey," he awkwardly whispered, "I'm really sorry I woke you up. I shouldn't have come in here. Go back to sleep, Hotch. I'm just gonna go—"

"Spencer," Aaron repeated, voice groggy and thick with sleep, "Are you alright? Did you have another nightmare?"

He gave him a nod, then promptly remembered how dark it was. Hotch more than likely couldn't see his gesture.

"Yeah, I did, but I'm okay," he softly answered, "S-Sort of. But it was pretty bad. I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't, so I came in here..." He bit his lip, shuffling from foot to foot, nervous. He felt like such a baby. "Um, I was just wondering...can I—I mean, would it be okay if I..." he stopped again, sighing in frustration. The words were sticking in his throat, digging deep, making him tongue-tied. He needed to say it, though, so he took a deep breath and forced the question out on the winds of a rapid exhale, "Would it be okay if I slept in here? With—With you?"

Before he'd even finished speaking Aaron had lifted the covers and slid over, opening up a space next to him.

There was a whisper.

"Baby, come here."

He realized then that Hotch probably wasn't completely awake. If he was, he most certainly wouldn't be suggesting that they sleep under the covers together.

The _same_ covers.

The man had made such a point of ensuring that they'd remained separated by blankets the last time they'd slept in the same bed; but that had also been before they'd kissed.

Before they'd grown closer, more intimate.

Honestly, the idea of lying that close to Aaron didn't really scare him that much. He wasn't frightened by the prospect. He was a bit nervous, but he didn't feel like that was necessarily a bad thing. In fact, the thought of the two of them wrapped up together underneath the covers, skin to skin, had him giddy and excited.

The idea was quite alluring.

"Spencer." The voice was firm, more awake than before, and quickly snapped him out of his thoughts. "Come here," Hotch repeated, "It's alright. Just come here."

It sounded more like a command than a request, leaving no room for argument, and he gladly obeyed. He knew in the back of his mind that he could have said no and left if he'd chosen to, returned to his own room; but then, that wasn't what he'd wanted.

That wasn't why he'd come in here.

He'd come in here because he didn't want to be alone.

He wanted to be right there, so he crawled into the bed next to Hotch, filling the space that had been made for him. He snuggled right up to Aaron, relaxing as the man's warmth began to surround him; and the blanket covered them both while an arm curled behind his back, pulling him in closer. They were face to face, almost chest to chest, and he could tell now that brown eyes were staring at him.

He was beginning to adjust to the darkness.

Timidly, he brought his hands up to run along the soft fabric of the white cotton t-shirt Aaron wore, feeling the smooth planes of sculpted muscle lying just underneath. His fingers slowly advanced, taking their time as they moved along the man's chest, savoring the feel of him. He half expected Hotch to stop him—to snatch his hands away—but the petition never came so he continued on his path, fingers curving around the nape of Aaron's neck to haphazardly play with the soft hairs there.

Their foreheads met, and he breathed in the rich scent that was purely _this man_ , letting everything about Aaron's strong presence calm him as he let out a long sigh.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Hotch softly queried.

"No," he shook his head, his body instantly moving closer of its own accord.

He didn't want to talk, and he didn't want to think. Not about the dream or about his ex or about what tomorrow might bring.

All he wanted to do was forget.

And feel.

He wanted to feel something other than Parker all over him...the man's deceptive hands holding him down, body violating him.

He wanted something that would burn those awful memories and images and sensations away.

Drown them out, destroy them.

Make it so they'd never even existed.

He didn't want to talk, and he didn't want to think...so he stopped.

He stopped thinking and he stopped talking and he let his desire take over for just an instant, and that was long enough. Before he knew exactly what was happening—what he was doing—he was pressing right up against the hard line of Aaron's very firm body. Strong arms helped him on his way, holding him right there, keeping him in place. It felt like their hearts were two magnets, attracted to one another, drawing each other in.

They were helpless to stop the inevitable union.

Not that he'd really want to stop it.

Not tonight.

"Aaron, I don't..." he paused, giving one last moment of thought to his desire before he tilted his head up and slowly whispered, "I don't really think I wanna talk right now."

"Then what do you want?" There was a rumble deep in Aaron's chest that had him melting; the vibrations from it coursing through his own body. "Just tell me, Sweetheart," Hotch purred, "Tell me what you want."

Butterflies soared in his stomach at that beautiful name, and he could almost feel Aaron's lips brushing lightly against his as the man spoke.

God, they were so fucking close.

His heart fluttered as a wave of heat pulsed through him, terminating low in his groin, pushing him into a heightened state of arousal.

He gasped, open-mouthed, inviting.

Trembling.

"I just, I—I just wanna feel you," he shuddered as his hips wantonly rocked forward, "Please, Aaron...just...please just let me _feel_ you..."

A spark of pleasure shot through him when his aching erection met the hot, hard length of Aaron's through silk and cotton; and a shared moan erupted from both men at the erotic contact. Hotch continued to hold him firmly in place, their hips slotting together perfectly as hands clung to his back.

He keened at the bite of short nails gently scraping against his skin through his shirt.

They stared into each other's eyes a moment longer, sharing breath as frantic heartbeats met.

Electricity buzzed in the air around them.

Then his mouth was crashing onto Aaron's and Spencer let go of all his inhibitions. He gave in to his desires—completely—threading fingers into short raven locks as he opened up and eagerly took in the tongue that was lapping at his lips...begging for entry.

They tangled themselves together, his leg curling around Aaron's hip, opening more of himself up to the man—offering Hotch all of him.

Everything he was.

Those nails scratched down his spine and over the curve of his backside, then Aaron's hand was splayed across his ass, kneading the skin as it pulled him in to meet an enthusiastic thrust forward.

Bodies rocked back and forth with abandon...in a perfect, sensual rhythm.

A carnal unison.

Needy.

Hungry.

Intense.

He could sense how much Aaron wanted him by the desperate way the man was clutching at his ass and his back, groping him through his clothes.

It made the base of his cock throb...all hot and wet and leaking.

He yelped when they unexpectedly started to roll.

It was a quick, easy, fluid movement that left him lying on his back, looking up into lustful eyes. He readily spread his legs further apart, allowing Hotch to settle between them; and hands began to roam up his sides as their arousals continued to mingle—feeding off one another, growing harder, wetter, begging for release.

Aaron's scent was all over him, surrounding him, consuming him; and he breathed it in deep as he arched and moaned into the mouth above. A moment later, though, that mouth broke away to kiss along his jaw and then down his neck. He threw his head back, baring his throat to the man; and a shiver ran through him at the blissful feel of it all.

Hotch was tasting him, claiming him, making him his.

His hands came up to cling to Aaron's back, strong muscles rippling beneath his fingers.

He needed more, undulating wantonly below the man, desperate for the constant friction.

They were so close.

So close that he could almost imagine exactly how it would feel when Aaron's very solid cock slid deep inside him.

Tight and slick.

Smooth and easy.

Slow and gentle, and _oh so hot_.

It would be just the right kind of pain, really; an erotic burn as he felt his muscles stretch to accommodate the wide girth of his lover.

He groaned at the delicious thought, wrapping his legs around Aaron's waist while his hands slid down to dip under the elastic of the man's boxers. Nimble fingers traveled further still, brushing along soft, warm skin before cupping both cheeks beneath his palms.

Instantly, a growl filled the air as the firm ass in his hold began thrusting down into him.

His excitement grew.

They were sliding, rubbing, throbbing together.

A wave of pleasure flooded his system, setting his nerves alight with heat.

"God, you're beautiful," Aaron moaned against his skin, low and breathy, "Absolutely gorgeous, baby."

He trembled at the praise, but it wasn't altogether pleasant to his ears. Another voice had joined Aaron's, mingling with the chorus of their pants and moans.

It didn't sound quite right...

.

" _I wanted you on your back so I could see this beautiful face."_

.

It wasn't Aaron's voice...

.

" _You're so gorgeous, and I just can't get enough, baby. I'm the only one who sees how stunning you are."_

.

"Aaron?" he questioned, breathless and quivering.

There was no answer, and fear tickled the back of his mind.

Aaron's smell was rapidly fading away from him and something else was taking its place, taking over. It invaded his senses...consuming him, surrounding him.

Sweet and hot.

Cinnamon.

He was confused, starting to slip away...

.

" _I'm the only one who knows you, Spence. No one else would ever stay with someone like you."_

.

Aaron was rutting hard against him, panting in his ear as fingers tangled messily into his hair.

He was close to the edge—about to tip over the cliff.

About to fall.

Pressure built at the base of his spine as euphoric bliss and ice cold dread warred deep within him, and the feeling was chased quickly by a sick twist of his stomach.

He knew Aaron was with him.

He knew that, but he couldn't smell him anymore.

Aaron didn't smell like cinnamon...

.

" _Aaron certainly wouldn't stay with you. He'd only use you up and throw you out...like trash."_

.

"Aaron, please," his voice wavered, then cracked; he didn't know exactly what he was asking for.

"What do you need, Sweetheart," Hotch purred, thrusting down again and again, "What do want me to do?"

He didn't know the answer...

.

" _What do you want? Tell me what you need."_

" _I need you to—to let me come. P-Please, can I come?"_

" _Well, since you asked so nicely..."_

.

He didn't know what he wanted, except that he wanted to smell Aaron. He wanted to be surrounded by everything that _was_ Aaron; but something else was happening to him instead. Something very, very wrong.

He couldn't stop it.

He felt his erection quickly waning as fear took hold...

.

" _I want you to come for me, baby. It's no fun if you don't get off, too..."_

.

"Please, Aaron," he whimpered, hot tears falling down his face as his hands moved up to push against the chest above him—trying to force the man off, "Don't—Don't, _please._ I don't want this. Please j-just stop..."

He did want it.

Truly.

He wanted Aaron to make love to him more than anything else in that moment.

He wanted to feel Aaron inside him, filling him, holding him close as they fit perfectly together; but he didn't want that to happen if the only thing he could sense was Parker.

The man's sickly sweet scent pushed its way into his mind, slithering inside like a parasite, violating him all over again.

He flushed with a wave of nausea as bile rose to the back of his throat.

He felt dizzy, and he knew he was breathing much too quick; hyperventilating through teeth clenched so tight his jaw ached.

"Spencer, look at me."

Aaron's voice pierced the thick veil of confusion clouding his mind, helping to bring him out of whatever hole he'd started to fall into. He opened his eyes and looked up, letting a sob escape him at the sight.

The scent of cinnamon vanished as quickly as it had descended; and the strong, rich, beautiful aroma that was purely Aaron replaced it once more as concerned brown eyes looked down at him.

"I'm so sorry," he started, but Hotch quickly shook his head to silence him.

"Hush. Don't ever apologize for something like this, Spencer. You said stop, and we stopped." He stroked Reid's hair, then rose off him, moving to lie beside him instead, "I want you to know that you can tell me to stop and I'll stop. You're in complete control of what does or doesn't happen between us."

"But, Aaron, you're obviously _very_ aroused and it's my fault."

It was all his fault.

He'd come into Aaron's room uninvited, crawled into his bed and seduced him. He'd gotten him worked up, hot and bothered, and then made them stop before they'd had a chance to finish what he'd started. He'd left Hotch hard and unsatisfied, and that was something that was never allowed.

He was being a tease.

"I—I came in here and threw myself at you," he shook his head, "I'm so sorry. Please, please don't be mad."

"Oh, Sweetheart..." Aaron sighed. It was a tired, pained sound, and it made his heart hurt just a little to hear. "Baby, this wasn't your fault. I let myself get worked up just as much as you did; and honestly, I probably shouldn't have. I should have stopped before we got as far as we did; but that's on me, not you. You're not responsible for my actions or my satisfaction, and I would never be mad at you or blame you for something like this. It's extremely important for me to know that you understand that, Spencer. You're never obligated to do anything for me if you don't want to, sexual or otherwise. If at some point in the future we go further than we did tonight and you say stop, I'll stop. It doesn't matter how worked up I am, I'll stop everything without hesitation and I won't be mad at you. Every single time. That I can promise with absolute certainty." He paused, his hand coming up to cup Spencer's chin, keeping their eyes locked, "Now, I can't in good conscious do anything like this with you again unless I'm positive that you believe me and feel comfortable telling me to stop if you need to—or even if you just change your mind and want to. Will you be able to do that?"

He nodded, a little too stunned by the speech he'd just heard to say anything verbal. This was all so much different than what he was used to. If he'd freaked out like this with Parker he would have been punished; but Aaron was being so kind and gentle with him.

So understanding.

He really shouldn't be surprised.

"I, um," his throat tightened and he coughed to clear it, "I think I can do that..."

"No, Spencer," Hotch instantly countered, "You can't just _think_ you can with this. It's too important. I need more than that from you."

"Yes," he nodded again, more sure.

He trusted Aaron.

He believed the man was telling him the truth. If he said stop, he knew Hotch would respect his wishes and stop immediately—he'd already proven that.

He was trying to believe that Aaron would do it all without getting angry with him as well, but that part was a little harder for him to accept.

"Yes," he repeated, meeting Aaron's questioning eyes, "Yes, I can do that."

Hotch gave him a tender smile and wiped a few stray hairs from his forehead, then leaned in and kissed him softly. It was innocent and chaste, the heat and lust from before replaced with something that felt much more than that to him, something precious and sacred.

When Aaron pulled away a moment later, Spencer rolled onto his side, situating himself so his back was up against the man's chest.

Hotch pulled him close, spooning him like he'd done the last time Spencer had a nightmare, except this time they were both under the covers.

It was warm and safe and cozy, and he felt like nothing could touch him as long as they were together—no one could hurt him.

Being in Aaron's arms was quickly becoming his safe haven.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Hotch gently spoke, "Do you wanna tell me about what happened earlier?"

"Hm?" he crinkled his brows and thought back to what had halted their heated activities, but he wasn't sure he even knew what it was. It had seemed like a flashback, but not exactly the same. Similar, although he'd been vaguely aware of his surroundings; or at least aware enough to know that something wasn't right. Aaron had smelled horribly wrong to him. "I don't really know," he murmured, "I was enjoying what we were doing, obviously," his cheeks started to burn and the arm around him tightened, "But um, then all of a sudden the only thing I could smell was...cinnamon."

The word sent another wave of nausea through him.

"Cinnamon?"

"Y-Yeah. Um, Park, he always smelled like it..." he trailed off for a minute, thinking. He'd always enjoyed the smell before, but now he couldn't even stand the thought of it. He wondered if he'd ever like it again. When Aaron's hand rubbed along his arm he snapped back from his musings and continued, "Anyway, all I could think about after that was him. I had a, a flash...maybe? I don't know if it was really a flashback, it didn't feel quite as intense. I still knew where I was; I still knew I was with you to an extent, but after the cinnamon I just couldn't think about anything but him. All I could hear was his voice in my head." He turned slightly to look back at Hotch, "I want to do more with you. So much more, truly, I do...but I don't want to be surrounded by _him_ —by his smell and his voice—not while I'm supposed to be with you."

"I don't want that either, Sweetheart."

Aaron bowed down and kissed Spencer's shoulder, then let his forehead rest there for a moment; and Reid leaned into the man, his cheek brushing up against soft, raven hair.

He inhaled deep, savoring Aaron's scent, appreciating its presence in the air around them.

"There's something else..." he mumbled, so softly he wasn't even sure Aaron had heard him.

That was, until Hotch lifted his head and looked down at him, "What is it? You can tell me anything."

He wasn't so sure about that. There was something he didn't know if he would ever be able to tell Aaron; something that would prove exactly how filthy he truly was. If Hotch found out about it, he was sure it would push the man away, and Reid didn't know if he could handle that.

.

 _"Aaron certainly wouldn't stay with you. He'd only use you up and throw you out...like trash."_

.

He tried to ignore the memory that kept taunting him. It was a lie Parker had spewed at him while he was actively raping him. It was manipulation, plain and simple, and it wasn't true of Aaron.

It probably wasn't true.

Unless Aaron found out what he'd done.

He wasn't about to tell him.

Something else had been bothering him, though, and he felt like Hotch should at least know about it. If they were going to be involved then he needed to tell him, and now seemed as good a time as any, so he went for it, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a jumbled mess of a ramble.

"Um, Parker, he—he took things from me. Well, I mean, I guess I gave him things... _a_ thing, _one_ thing, in particular. It's something I can never get back. Something I wish I still had to give to someone else." He looked up into Aaron's face, calm and collected, and his stomach twisted in knots. "Someone who deserves it...someone so much more important to me than he ever was. I just never thought...I never thought anyone else would wanna be with me, especially you, and so I gave him—I, um, I was..."

"Spencer," Aaron softly pressed, "Baby, what are you trying to say?"

He took a deep breath and forced the words out, "I was a, um, a v-virgin...when I met him."

There was silence after that, and he cringed at the volume of it as he continued to stare up at Aaron, trying to decipher the look on his face. It appeared to be a look of barely bridled rage, reminiscent of a certain expression the man got whenever he was confronting a particularly nasty unsub.

"Um, are you...okay?" he timidly asked, "I'm really sorry, Hotch. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset," Aaron quickly corrected, then paused, clarifying, "I'm not upset with _you,_ Spencer. I'm upset with the whole situation. I'm angry at myself for standing back and not saying anything to you about the reservations I had, and for not confessing my true feelings for you sooner. But most of all, I'm absolutely furious that the only romantic experiences you've had have been with that man and his twisted view of how a relationship should be. You weren't in a relationship with him, Spencer, you were a prisoner. That's not how it's supposed to be."

"Oh," he said, rather dumbly.

He didn't know what else to say, though; Aaron's feelings were so passionate, and he wasn't entirely sure how to respond. Honestly, he felt a little ashamed that he'd allowed himself to be sucked into Parker's lies and manipulation. He knew what he'd had with the man wasn't a loving relationship, but he'd tried to make himself believe that it was. Parker had made him question his value as a person, made him feel like no one else would ever want him or love him, and he didn't want to end up alone so he'd coped the only way he could. He'd compartmentalized the situation as his way of dealing with everything.

But now he was seeing things in a different light; a light not dimmed by the lies, and deceit, and fear—the denial. Hotch was opening his eyes to greater possibilities, and he was beginning to realize that he was truly wanted by the other man.

Desired.

He felt his lips curve up into a grin, and he rolled to his side once more, his back against Aaron's chest, "Maybe...maybe you can show me how it's really supposed to be, Aaron."

There was a laugh behind him, soft and lazy, "That's pretty much my plan."

"Good. I can't wait," he smiled, pushing further into Aaron's hold and humming at the warmth, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For letting me stay here tonight," he sighed, "In your arms."

"You're welcome _right here_ ," Hotch squeezed him a little tighter, breath ghosting over his neck, "Right here...whenever you want or need."

"I was really hoping I wouldn't have another nightmare," he confessed, "It kind of feels like a huge step backwards."

"Hey, that's not true." Aaron stopped and brought his hand up to cup Reid's cheek, gently turning his head to look up at him again, "You've made great strides. We had a wonderful day today, _outside_ , away from the house; and then tonight you were able to calm yourself down after having a nightmare. It may not seem like much, but those are huge steps forward. You're making good progress, Sweetheart, you just have to keep working at it. And I'll help you in any way that I can."

"I guess," he agreed, trying to feel more than halfhearted about the idea.

"And besides," Aaron added, "You're a superhero. Remember?"

He let out a light, amused huff at that, and Hotch leaned down to give him one more tender kiss on the lips.

"Goodnight, Aaron," he murmured, smiling.

"Goodnight, Spencer."

Settling back into the embrace, he sighed with contentment as he closed his eyes and fell quickly to sleep.

There were no more stirrings during the night, for in Aaron's arms, Spencer was in the one place his nightmares feared to tread.

.


	23. Ready

_Heed the warnings._

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ready

.

The second week of Reid's medical leave went pretty smoothly, all things considered. They stuck to their usual routine for the most part, getting up and eating breakfast together before Jack and Hotch left for work and school, respectively. Spencer would finish his own morning ritual after they'd gone, then spend a bit of time working on his journal articles. He'd been in the process of researching and drafting several before he'd been hurt—before his life was turned completely upside down—and it felt nice to finally start making progress on them again.

Most days he'd go for a walk around the neighborhood to get some fresh air, only slightly obsessed with examining every car and person in sight along the way. Part of his hyper-vigilance had to be due to his training as an FBI agent.

At least that's what he told himself.

He knew some of it was lingering paranoia, but that was slowly getting better. He didn't feel like he was as jittery and on edge while he was alone anymore, and he was growing more comfortable with being by himself, although he'd still prefer not to be.

Once he'd make it to the neighborhood park he would sit in the shade and read for a while, or just relax while he watched mothers and children come and go. He'd found himself wondering if Haley used to bring Jack out to play.

Most likely.

She may have had her issues with Aaron and their marriage, but she'd been a wonderful mother; and there was no denying the fact that the woman had loved Jack with all of her heart.

The thought made his own heart ache...for Jack, and Aaron, _and_ Haley. The boy deserved to have two loving parents in his life; he never should have been forced to endure such a tragic and traumatizing loss at such a young age.

It wasn't fair.

Thankfully, Jack had still been young enough at the time that he didn't remember all the details now.

He always made sure he was back home by 11:30 every day in anticipation of Aaron's phone calls. Their lunch conversations were starting to become one of the highlights of his day, and he was glad they were part of their routine. It gave him something to look forward to, and he enjoyed hearing how his friends were doing. Garcia had even started giving Hotch a list of _Happenings Around the BAU_ to rattle off to him during their calls. Apparently she was quite the social butterfly around Quantico, and very in the know...gossip-wise. It was kind of like Spencer's own personal soap opera every day, and it amused him greatly.

Hotch, not so much.

Spencer could tell by the tone of the man's voice—it would get this edge of annoyance every time Aaron started reading the paper out loud to him. It surprised him that Hotch continued to go along with it day after day even though it was clearly out of his comfort zone; he was obviously only doing it to make him happy.

And for Garcia.

It was sweet.

Usually after their call he'd find something quick to microwave for lunch, but Wednesday had been different—he'd shook up the routine, and it had been a big day for him.

Huge, really.

That was the first day he'd gotten behind the wheel of his car and driven somewhere by himself since the fiasco at the grocery store almost a week prior. He'd made plans to meet Morgan, Garcia and Emily for lunch at a diner the team frequented due to its close proximity to the FBI building.

The food wasn't too bad, either...for greasy diner fare.

Unfortunately, Hotch hadn't been able to join them; he'd had a lunch meeting to attend, and he couldn't get out of it. That was actually the main reason Reid had chosen that day to get together with the others; he'd known he wouldn't be able to talk to Aaron, and he'd felt like he could use the company.

The drive into Quantico had been uneventful, and he'd arrived at the diner early enough to grab a coveted booth before they were all taken by the lunch rush. He'd sat and waited for the other three to arrive by himself, and he'd been able to remain in complete control while strangers moved about all around him.

That wasn't a big deal to most people, he knew that, but for him it was a major accomplishment. He hadn't freaked out, and that in itself was cause for a monumental celebration as far as he was concerned. No one else had been with him, though, so he'd made due with ordering a slice of pie while he'd waited, figuring dessert before lunch was an acceptable consolation.

The fact that he'd been capable of going out in public alone without losing it like he had before spoke volumes to the progress he'd made. He truly felt like he was healing and moving forward; getting better every day. He may have been a little cracked by what he'd gone through, but he definitely wasn't broken beyond repair like he'd feared.

Lunch had gone wonderfully once his friends arrived, and he'd sat back happily listening while Garcia gave him the long-winded version of her _Happenings Around the BAU_.

Morgan and Emily took their turn after Penelope was finished, telling him how much they missed him and whining to him about the mounds of paperwork piled on both their desks. Evidently they'd had no choice but to do it all; things had been uncharacteristically quiet since he'd been gone, at least case wise.

Really, if he could have, he would've jumped at the opportunity to do some of their reports for them. It actually sounded a little bit like heaven—a way to keep his mind busy—and he was desperately looking forward to getting back to work for the same reason.

He was starting to go a little stir crazy.

The others may have been upset by the lack of cases over the last week and a half, but he certainly wasn't. If they'd been called away...or, more specifically, if _Hotch_ had been called away, there was no telling how long he would've had to stay alone in the house.

His nerves would have definitely got the better of him if he were left to his own devices for days on end.

When he thought about it, it'd been a very long time since he'd been left completely by himself at night. That hadn't happened since before he'd moved in with Parker. Someone had always been near him—at least under the same roof, if not in the same room.

Or in the same bed.

He'd always had someone to go to if he needed anything, and the constant presence was a comfort. He didn't want to be forced to face the night alone just yet.

Also, he realized, if Aaron had been called away on a case he would have simply missed him terribly. He'd grown very accustomed to the man's presence; and for that reason alone, he was insanely grateful that the team had remained at headquarters.

After lunch he'd usually spend some time taking advantage of the fact that he could nap because he still tired a lot easier than he had before. That was one of the only things he would miss when he went back to work—being able to sleep whenever he wanted to. Although, he kind of figured Aaron might let him steal a few minutes now and then on the couch in his office if he really needed it.

Once Hotch and Jack came home they would continue with their routine of dinner and playing and talking about their days. He and Jack still enjoyed their nightly story time, and the books he'd ordered online arrived just as they were finishing up _The Lord of the Rings_. Jack had been beyond excited when he'd seen the huge stack of new stories, and he ran through all the titles several times before finally choosing the one he wanted to start next. He'd picked another epic, much to Spencer's delight, and now they were fully immersed in the world of Narnia with _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_.

He'd only had two _wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, trembling, and gasping for breath_ nightmares over the last week, and both times he'd been able to calm himself enough to get up and make his way down the hall to Aaron's room. He didn't even bother waking Hotch anymore when he did it. He'd just quietly crawl into the bed and slip underneath the covers, curling up next to the man while Aaron wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in close, and they'd quickly fall back to sleep without ever saying a word.

It was another part of their routine, when it needed to be.

They were growing closer every day, he and Aaron.

There'd been several nights during the week where they'd stayed up way too late talking about anything and everything they could think of. Remarkably, Spencer found himself willingly opening up to Hotch about his past and all the reasons he'd stayed in such a toxic relationship for so long.

He realized that being the youngest and smallest kid in school, and well into college for that matter, had stunted his social growth—and quite possibly his emotional growth as well. No one had ever paid him any mind in a sexual or romantic way; he'd just been too young, not to mention very shy and painfully awkward. So when Parker Simmons had come into his life and shown considerable interest in him he'd kind of latched on to the attention with fervor.

The man was undeniably attractive. He was sweet and charming, and he'd swooped in and swept Spencer right off his feet. It had seemed too good to be true, someone like Parker being interested in someone like him—a skinny, awkward nerd, but it _was_ true.

Or so he'd thought.

Park had made him feel stirrings of desire deep within himself that until then had only been brought on by one other person; a person he knew would never see him as anything but a colleague, and possibly a friend.

Thankfully, he'd been wrong about that last part.

He hadn't known how Aaron felt about him at the time, though; so he'd clung to Parker, doing everything he could to make him happy.

By the time he'd finally realized his boyfriend wasn't the kind, sweet man he'd been led to believe it was already too late. He'd developed real feelings for him. He'd thought he loved him, and he'd moved in with him.

After Parker had shown his true colors, Spencer had felt ashamed for not figuring things out sooner—before he'd been sucked into all the lies and coercion. He should have seen the signs...seen the type of man Parker truly was from the beginning; a controlling, aggressive, manipulative sociopath.

That _was_ his job, after all.

He spent every day reading and profiling people, studying human behavior, but he'd failed to see what was right in front of him. It was embarrassing, and the thought of the team finding out that he'd allowed his boyfriend to hurt him was beyond mortifying.

That's how he'd found himself trapped with nowhere to go, and so he didn't. He'd just stayed there, trying to make it work while keeping the truth of the situation hidden away from his friends.

Trying to keep Parker satiated as best as he could.

He'd never given much thought to what could happen to him if he failed at that, too—what Parker might do to him.

He really should have.

Maybe if he had he wouldn't have ended up bleeding all over the bedroom floor.

The single best decision he'd made in the last year was calling Hotch on that horrible, painful, hazy morning. He still didn't know exactly why he'd done it, other than the overwhelming desire he'd had to hear Aaron's beautiful voice. He'd known it would be calm and collected and in complete control, and that's exactly what he'd needed.

He'd needed someone to take charge of the situation and fix the mess he'd made.

Now he was seeing Aaron in a whole new light, and it was brightened by the very real possibility of having a future with him. Maybe that's why he was letting him see the most vulnerable parts of himself, and he wasn't all that scared about it. He trusted Hotch, and he wanted to tell him everything.

He wanted Aaron to know all there was to know about him.

Almost.

He wasn't the only one bearing their soul during those late night conversations, either.

It was a kind of give and take. He was opening up to Aaron, and Aaron was opening up to him—telling him about his childhood and his father. He'd chronicled some of what went on when his dad would drink too much, which had been a near nightly ritual during his adolescence. There'd been countless hospital visits for both him and Sean...broken arms, bruised ribs, a fractured clavicle, several concussions. His mother had let the abuse continue for years, covering for her husband because she'd been scared of what the man might do.

That was something Spencer could fully understand now, not that it made it any better or easier to stomach.

He'd only known a tiny bit about Aaron's past before he'd moved in with him, and hearing the man he loved talk about all the pain he'd been forced to endure in his childhood made him sick. Thinking about Hotch being hurt by someone who was supposed to love and protect him actually made Spencer physically ill, and he'd had to fight the urge to retch on several occasions.

He wondered if that's how Hotch felt every time he listened to Spencer talk about what Parker had done to _him_ ; and that thought kind of made him love Aaron even more. They'd both suffered trauma and abuse from people they'd loved—different in many ways, yet the same in others—and sharing their stories seemed to strengthen the connection between them, the bond they shared.

He still didn't know exactly what they were doing, what that connection between them was, but he knew he liked it.

He knew he didn't want it to end.

The physical aspect of their relationship hadn't reached the same frantic and heated level as it had the first night he'd crept into Aaron's bedroom after a nightmare, but that was okay. They were taking things slow; and the shared kisses, soft touches and hand holding were absolutely wonderful. It was nice to be able to be somewhat physical with his affections and know he wouldn't instantly feel pressured to do anything else, which was a very new and freeing experience for him. He believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that Hotch would never try to force him to do anything he didn't want to do.

He was comfortable, and happy, and it was truly beginning to feel like Aaron and Jack were becoming his family. He didn't know if that was a silly notion—maybe he was jumping the gun a little, or a lot—but he couldn't help thinking it. He loved them both, father _and_ son. They were a huge part of his life now, and he didn't want that to fade because he got better, he only wanted it to strengthen.

There'd been no sign of Parker over the week since he'd been released from jail, and Spencer tried to put him completely out of his mind. He still had this nagging feeling deep down in the pit of his stomach that someone was watching him, but he knew it was all psychosomatic. He just needed to ignore it, and that task was getting easier every day. He didn't want to dwell on the past and what had happened to him any longer, he'd done enough of that. It was time to look toward the future—get back to work, see his friends, and continue growing closer to Aaron and Jack.

For the first time in a long time, his future didn't feel dark and bleak.

The exact opposite, really.

It felt bright and promising and filled with excitement; and he was very much looking forward to every bit of it.

A big part of that excitement stemmed from the fact that Monday morning was rapidly approaching; and when Sunday evening arrived, he was almost giddy with eager anticipation. There were only a handful of hours left until he'd finally be leaving _with_ Hotch and Jack to go to the BAU, and the thought of that had him grinning from ear to ear as he stepped out of the boy's room and softly shut the door.

He was already changed and ready for bed, wearing a comfortable pair of sleep pants and a baggy t-shirt. The sooner he got to sleep the sooner morning would arrive—or, at least that's how it would feel—and he was all for speeding up the process any way he could.

When he turned to head down the hall he saw Hotch leaning against the door frame to the master bedroom, arms crossed over his chest and dark eyes fixed squarely on him. He didn't miss a beat as he stepped right up to Aaron and met their lips in a confident kiss. The other man quickly opened for him, and his tongue dove into wet heat as his fingers carded through short hair, savoring the soft feel of the strands beneath his touch.

The intimacy was by now a familiar and very common occurrence between the two, and there was no hesitation or second guessing on his part.

He knew Hotch would welcome his advances with open arms.

"I'll see you in the morning," he smiled, ending the kiss and gently patting Aaron's chest before starting toward his own room.

"Do you think you're ready?" Hotch asked, stopping his retreat, "For tomorrow? It's a big deal, your first day back and all."

He turned back around to look at him as he contemplated the question. He was definitely ready to get back out there; to get back to work and have a purpose again—help people.

Also, getting to see Aaron more was a major perk and an added bonus.

He did have a few reservations, though.

"I guess so," he answered, biting his lip, "I mean, I think I'm ready, but I'm a little nervous about the psych evaluation."

That was a definite understatement, to say the least.

A part of him was terrified that he wasn't as okay as he thought he was. He no longer tried to deny the fact that he had issues to work through, but he truly did feel like he was doing much better than he had been two weeks ago.

But what if he really wasn't?

What if he wasn't as well as he thought he was?

What if the Bureau psychologist took one look at him and decided he was too damaged to return to work?

Or what if they poked around in his head too long, analyzing his thoughts and feelings and emotions, and it dredged up unwanted memories?

Memories that could possibly trigger a flashback. He hadn't had one in several days, and he really wanted to keep it that way.

The possibility of it happening made him anxious.

"I think you're gonna do just fine, Spencer, but please...promise me you won't talk circles around the doctor." Aaron gave him a stern yet semi-playful look when he opened his mouth to protest, "I know you _can_ , Reid, but that doesn't mean that you _should._ I really want you to give therapy a chance, at least for one session. Just see how it goes. You never know...you may even find that you like it."

"That's highly unlikely," he scoffed.

He doubted very much that he would enjoy some stranger prodding around in his brain, but when Hotch's eyes narrowed in on him he deflated slightly.

"I'll try, okay?" he pouted, then yelped in surprise as his wrist was caught and he was pulled into Aaron's arms.

"Okay," Hotch breathed, "As long as you really try."

A hand tilted his chin and their lips met once more. He opened up quickly, allowing Aaron to deepen the kiss while another hand snaked its way around his waist, tugging him in closer. They turned as one, and before he knew it he found himself pushed gently against the wall. An undercurrent of neediness hummed in the air around them, charging it like electricity as it egged them on in their mutual pursuits. Fingers ran through his hair, pulling; and he wrapped his arms around Aaron's back as their bodies met in one long line of firm heat and growing arousal.

He was instantly turned on.

This contact was so much more physical than anything else that had happened between them during the week, and he longed for more.

Much too quickly, though, Hotch broke away from the kiss, meeting their foreheads and panting as he continued to pin Reid to the wall. "I don't think I wanna let you go, Spencer," he sighed, "Will you stay with me tonight?"

He was caught off guard by the question.

Was Aaron asking him to spend the night?

 _With_ him?

In his room?

In his bed?

Had he heard that right?

They'd slept in the same bed together a total of three times, and that was only after he'd had horrible nightmares; it wouldn't have happened otherwise.

Well...it probably wouldn't have happened.

Honestly, he didn't know if it was the best idea to stay with Aaron tonight. There were things his body wanted that his mind questioned—not because he didn't truly want them, but because he didn't want to make a mistake. He didn't want to jump into anything too soon and ruin what they had.

His body ended up winning the fight, though, and he found himself quietly nodding his agreement with a smile.

As soon as he gave his silent answer Hotch took his hand and led him into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them. The light remained off, and he was spun, his mouth once again instantly claimed by warm, soft lips. Fingers tangled back into his hair, gently tugging as he opened to allow Aaron's return. A hand roamed over his back and dipped down to softly brush the curve of his ass, and he moaned into the open-mouthed kiss, stumbling backwards as Hotch began to advance forward. His calves hit the edge of the bed, throwing him off balance; and he clung tight to the arms around him, gasping as he was pulled in even closer.

"I've got you."

Aaron whispered the words into his mouth, and that only made him moan again as a torrent of heat burst through him. Their hips cradled perfectly together, clothed erections nuzzling against each other while they rocked as one.

He was hot and hard and aching.

When they broke apart again, purely out of a necessity for oxygen, they were both breathless and gasping for air.

Their bodies shuddered in unison as want weighed heavy in the room.

The hand still in his hair moved down to tenderly rub along the nape of his neck, and Hotch brought his lips down to kiss the shell of his ear.

"I wanna make you feel pleasures you've never even dreamed of," Aaron purred, sultry and seductive, a teasing edge to the desire, "Can I, Sweetheart? Will you let me make you feel good?"

His body quivered at the question, a groan escaping his throat as heat whirred low in his groin. He wanted to shout _yes yes yes_ , but he was having a difficult time making any words come out at all. He was trembling, his senses buzzing, his body spun so tight he felt like he might burst at any moment from just the mere presence of the other man.

Finally, though, he was able to give him a whispered, "Yes... _please_ ," as he jerked his head in wanton agreement.

Aaron smiled and kissed him again, then gently eased him down to lie on the bed.

He watched with heavy-lidded eyes as Hotch followed close behind, lying next to him and meeting his gaze while fingertips began to lightly trail up his thigh. The sensation of their ascent made him shiver, slowly feathering over the fabric of his pants until they reached a jutting hip bone. He couldn't stop himself from bucking into the air at the feel of Aaron's hand so close to his now straining erection, telltale signs of arousal wetting his pants and urging him on, his body screaming for those fingers to touch him _right fucking there_. The hand carried on, though, moving along his stomach and his chest, tickling his neck. He arched off the bed, throwing his head back and moaning under the soft caress. Then that teasing hand came up to rest warmly on his cheek, carefully turning him to face Aaron.

He smiled up at the dimpled grin and misty eyes that greeted him.

"Is this still alright?" Hotch murmured, brushing a thumb across his lower lip, a hint of concern etched in the draw of his brows.

He opened his mouth, and the tip of the digit pressed inside for just a moment before retreating. He desperately wanted it back, wanted to suck it in a way he knew would drive Aaron mad. But it didn't return, so he swallowed and tried to figure out the answer to the man's question instead.

Was this alright?

It certainly felt alright.

Better than alright.

He'd been reduced to a writhing, moaning heap under Aaron's tender touch, and it felt amazing. He wanted more, so he nodded as he brought his own hand up to comb through Aaron's hair.

He was perfect right here...with _this_ man...in _these_ arms...beneath _this_ body.

His hand tightened around the locks in his hold, pulling Hotch down to him and crashing their mouths together again, Aaron's tongue diving deep as the man's hand began to slink back down his neck and his chest. For a moment he wished he didn't have a shirt on so he could feel more of Aaron's skin on his; but then nails raked over a nipple through the fabric and he arched into the sensation, keening as a flicker of pleasure filled him.

He was achingly hard, and hot, and wet.

Absolutely desperate for that hand to move lower.

And it did.

Fingers ghosted across his abdomen and curved around his hip, settling there; and he thrust into the air once more, rubbing himself against the sticky dampness coating the inside of his pants. His breathing was quick, his pulse quicker, and his cock throbbed with a shameless desire to be touched.

"I wanna make you come," Aaron murmured against sweaty skin, licking along his jawline to his ear, "Is that still gonna be alright with you, Sweetheart?"

"Oh god—" his breath hitched as he tried to collect his thoughts.

His body was on fire and shamelessly begging for release from Aaron's strong, skillful hands. He wanted to melt into the touch—give himself over to the man above him, the man he loved and trusted with everything.

"Yes," he moaned, and it sounded lewd and obscene in his head but he didn't even care, "Please, Aaron...I wanna come for you. Only you. God... _make me come for you_..."

His body trembled at the low growl that emanated from Hotch, then the hand resting heavy on his hip moved away, tickling his lower abdomen and dipping below the waistband of his pants.

His hips began to rock up in eager anticipation.

Everything was extremely hot, and sticky, and blurry.

When he felt the first soft brush of fingertips slide against his sensitive flesh he gasped; and another loud moan erupted from his throat when warm, firm pressure surrounded his cock and began stroking from base to crown.

The sensation was exquisite...for a moment. Almost instantly, though, that glorious pleasure strumming through him vanished.

His breath hitched, the room faded away, and he wasn't in bed with Aaron anymore.

He wasn't safe.

He was in pain, and he was with _him_...

.

" _I want you to come for me, baby," Parker hissed in his ear, then reached down between his body and the bed. Warm, firm pressure surrounded him, and that wretched hand began to stroke. "It's no fun if you don't get off, too," the man growled, thrusting in deep, "And I'll just keep fucking you until you do..."_

.

"No no no _no!"_ he screeched, pushing at the hand down his pants, the fingers groping him.

He didn't want this.

He didn't want it to feel good.

He didn't want to fucking _enjoy_ it!

"Don't make me," he whimpered, "Please! Please don't make me do this..."

"Spencer, shhh...you're alright. Baby, please, I need you to calm down." Warm hands cradled his face and ran through his hair as he listened to the smooth, low voice above him. It sounded sweet to his ears, and comforting, "God, I'm so, so sorry...I wasn't thinking, honey. You don't have to do anything— _I_ won't do anything. I promise. I won't make you. Just please...open your eyes and look at me."

He believed the voice, and he slowly opened his eyes.

Instantly he realized exactly where he was and who he was with, and a flood of relief washed over him. He was in Aaron's bedroom, in Aaron's bed, and in Aaron's arms.

Safe.

He was safe here.

He was safe and everything was okay.

He took several deep breaths as he looked into Aaron's eyes; and he could see fear and worry and guilt painted throughout. He didn't want to cause him any more pain than he already had. "I—I'm so sorry, Aaron," he started, "I wanted this. I really, really did, I just..." He didn't know what else to say, what words could make the situation any better, so he just sighed, "I'm...sorry..."

"Hey, it's alright," Aaron softly assured, "You don't need to apologize. I got carried away. I only wanted to make you feel good, but it was too much too fast, and I should have realized that. I'm not upset with you, and you never have to worry that I'm gonna be mad if we have to stop. You're the one in control here, remember?"

Aaron's words echoed in his mind...

.

" _It doesn't matter how worked up I am, I'll stop everything without hesitation and I won't be mad at you. Every single time."_

.

He gave him a quick nod.

There was another moment of silence, then Hotch asked, "Do you wanna talk about what you saw?"

"No," he snapped. It came out a lot harsher than he'd intended, but he couldn't let Aaron know what he'd done—what he'd allowed Parker to do to him.

It was just too much.

He could hear the man's voice hissing in his ear...

.

" _You think anyone's ever gonna want you now? Please...just look at yourself...fucking my hand like that. You're nothing, baby. Nothing but my filthy little play thing..."_

.

He was disgusting, and if Hotch ever found out he'd probably never want to touch him again.

"I mean, I just wanna forget about it," he tried once more, softening his voice, "I'm really sorry you have to wait around for me..."

"Baby," Aaron smiled down at him, "I'm in no hurry here. I'm a patient man. I can wait until you're ready because you're worth waiting for. And I know I've said this before, but I think you might need to hear it again, so listen to me carefully," he stopped and met Reid's eyes, "Are you listening?"

He just gave another small nod, unsure of what to expect.

"Even if you're never ready, Spencer, you're still worth it."

The corners of his mouth quirked up as a tear rolled down his cheek. Hotch had said that same thing to him before, but it still sounded just as sweet as it had the first time. "You really think that, don't you?" he asked, truly beginning to believe it.

"Oh yes, Sweetheart," Aaron softly whispered, his smile growing, "I promise, no matter what, you'll always be worth it to me."

* * *

The next morning went off without a hitch.

After their talk Spencer had slept soundly in Aaron's arms all night, and when they'd told Jack that Penny would be leaving with them the boy had been extremely excited. They'd celebrated the occasion with pop tarts for breakfast, and even Hotch had partaken in one of the pastries he usually vehemently chastised and despised.

After they'd finished, they piled into the car and dropped Jack off at Jessica's, where Spencer had received a much stronger hug than he'd anticipated from the petite blonde, along with a kiss on his cheek that made him blush terribly.

Aaron, on the other hand, had seemed to thoroughly enjoy seeing him so flustered; and when they'd returned to the car he'd wiped the lingering lipstick stain away from Spencer's face, chuckling as he replaced it with a kiss of his own.

By the time he saw the FBI building come into view there were butterflies filling his stomach; when Hotch pulled into the parking lot he could feel his body trembling with an excited, anxious energy; as they entered the lobby and moved through the security check point his butterflies suddenly morphed into bats; and when the elevator doors dinged their arrival at the BAU there was a full blown tsunami wreaking havoc with his insides.

But everything in him stilled when the doors opened to reveal his entire team standing on the other side, Garcia sparkling in the middle of the group with a tray of delicious looking cupcakes in her hands. She was wearing the most radiant smile he'd ever seen on her, and he couldn't stop his lips from trying to mimic the gesture.

Morgan stood beside her, one arm slung over her shoulders, and JJ and Emily were on either side of the pair.

Dave stood behind the others, a rather frighteningly large _Welcome Back!_ balloon floating in the air above his head.

As he stepped off the elevator he could feel the comforting weight and warmth of Aaron's hand resting gently on his back, grounding him, keeping him calm.

A thunderous and obnoxious chorus of squeaking paired with a colorful rain of glitter and paper announced his arrival as Morgan, JJ and Emily blew kazoos and threw confetti; but Hotch quickly and abruptly put an end to that particular form of celebration with a silent glance in the trio's direction.

Spencer couldn't blame him, really. They _were_ causing quite a scene.

He didn't particularly mind it, though.

His friends had gone to great lengths to help ensure that he felt welcomed back, and they'd definitely succeeded in their task. They all cared for him, like a true family would, and he felt a blush start to creep in at the thought. He couldn't contain the huge grin that stretched across his face, and he didn't even try—his cheeks ached with the intensity of it.

But it was a good ache.

Very good.

"Oh oh oh, baby genius! Welcome back!" Garcia cooed, running up to him and flinging the tray of cupcakes at Aaron before wrapping Spencer up in a huge bear hug, "Honey, we missed you so so so so _so so_ much!"

"I missed you guys too, Garcia," he laughed, returning the embrace, "But, um, you did just see me a few days ago."

She pulled slightly back, eyes wide in disbelief, "Oh, that was like an eternity, sweet cheeks."

"Alright, Mama, give the kid some space." Morgan stepped up and clasped him on the shoulder, "It's good to have you back, Reid."

He smiled at him, although it felt a little awkward. Morgan called him Reid a lot, it was nothing new, but this time it just seemed a bit forced—like there was no other option.

There wasn't, really.

He could sense some unspoken sentiment floating in the air around them.

 _Don't say anything that could make him freak out._

It seemed like his friends were walking on eggshells, trying their best not to say or do anything that could possibly trigger a flashback or other adverse reaction. Obviously certain names fit into that category now, names he truly missed hearing but could no longer even stomach the sound of.

They were off limits, and he hated it.

"Hey, Morgan," he finally replied, smiling as he tried to push those thoughts out of his mind, "You have no idea how good it feels to be back."

"Yeah, I hear ya. It was gettin' pretty boring with just Prentiss around to annoy."

"Gee, thanks," Emily walked up and slapped Morgan on the arm, then turned to Reid and gave him a quick hug. He noticed her sharp eyes flit down toward the floor, then back up to him with a glimmer. "Why...you little devil," she murmured lowly, smirking, "You're just full of surprises, Dr. Reid...it's good to have you back."

He frowned at her, a small sliver of panic cutting into his thoughts.

Did Prentiss know about him and Aaron? He'd been surprised when JJ had outed them at the zoo, and now Emily was acting strange.

Had she seen Aaron's hand on his back?

Had she figured it all out?

He didn't know how his friends could possibly know what was going on between him and Hotch when he didn't even really understand it himself. They _were_ all profilers, though, and very good at their jobs. He'd been inside the BAU for all of five minutes and he feared everyone had already picked up on the fact that there was something happening between them.

JJ came up next, her voice calmly pulling him out of his head—saving him from his internal freak out.

"It's so good to see you back, Reid," she smiled, hesitant, as though she were trying to hold something back, "We all missed you around here. It hasn't been the same without you."

"I'll say. Aaron's been positively _insufferable_ since you've been gone," Rossi bellowed, then took a drink from his coffee. He gave Reid a wink and a grin, "Maybe we can all catch a break from his mood swings now that you're back."

Hotch glared at Dave, and Dave smirked right back, undeterred. Spencer just furrowed his brows. He had no idea what _that_ was all about, but he was going to attempt to ignore it. Hotch and Rossi had an interesting friendship, to say the least, and he wasn't about to try and figure it out or get in the middle of it.

He had other things on his mind.

"It's really good to be back," he said again, tapping his feet and holding tight to the strap of his messenger bag, his palms starting to sweat, "But you guys know it's not official yet."

"Oh, you've got this, Reid," JJ encouraged, gently rubbing up and down his arm.

"Yeah," Prentiss quickly added, "Just try not to make this one cry, though."

"Hey, I didn't make Dr. Reynolds cry," he argued, "I merely explained that I knew more about—"

"Okay, okay," Hotch stopped him before he got too far into his ramble, "Reid, go see Dr. Martin. Everyone else, get to work. We'll celebrate with cupcakes when you're done."

"Aw, come on..." Derek whined, "You mean I gotta wait to eat a cup—"

"Yes!" JJ, Garcia and Emily all answered in unison, glaring at Morgan.

Garcia took the tray from Hotch and added, her voice sweet and motherly, "These are Reid's cupcakes, Chocolate Thunder, and _no one_ gets to eat any until he's officially back."

"No pressure," Prentiss mumbled beside him.

Everyone gave him a wave, and after they'd all passed through the glass double doors and into the bullpen Hotch turned to him, a comforting hand resting behind his elbow, "You've got this. Just be honest and open and you'll kill it in there."

He gave a shaky nod and tightened his slippery grip on the strap of his bag.

"Not literally, though," Aaron smirked, "Leave her unharmed, Reid."

"Ha ha," he mocked, "You're just hilarious, Aaron. Truly hilarious."

"God, I wish I could kiss you right now."

"Yeah?" He blushed again, heart picking up momentum as Aaron's eyes raked over his body. The stare felt so intense that he wondered if the man had x-ray vision. "It would hardly be professional," he murmured, tucking several flyaway strands of hair behind his ears, "And, um, I think we have at least five sets of eyes spying on us through the doors..."

They both slowly turned, watching as the rest of the team quickly scattered to all corners of the bullpen. It wasn't discreet in the slightest, but they were profilers, not covert operatives.

"Well," Aaron chuckled, looking back to him, "Just know that if I could, I'd take you in my arms, dip you down low and give you a kiss that would rock your world and knock your mismatched socks right off your feet."

A tiny whimper escaped him at the thought of all _that_ happening, and he felt his legs trying to turn to jello beneath him as all the blood rushed to his groin.

"You better get moving, Dr. Reid," Hotch gave his arm a little squeeze, then pulled away and headed for the doors, turning around just before he opened them, "We'll all be here when you get back."

He watched as his boss, his friend, his... _whatever the hell they were_...walked into the bullpen, then took a deep, steadying breath and headed for Dr. Martin's office.

He could do this.

He knew he could.

He was strong, and he was capable.

And he was ready.

.


	24. Wheels Up

_I always write to music, so I've created a playlist of all the songs that have inspired this story. This fic is a roller coaster of emotions, and so is the music. If you're interested, I've added the youtube link to the list on my profile page. Just delete the spaces.  
_

 _Also, warnings for this chapter: talk of torture, rape and murder in the context of a case._

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four

Wheels Up

.

Reid softly rapped on the open door and watched as the woman sitting at the desk looked up from her papers. She silently motioned for him to enter, and he did so, albeit hesitantly.

The first thing he noticed was the calm, sweet aroma of lavender.

The atmosphere in the room felt light and airy, with bright rays of sun shining in through a large window on the far wall. Bookshelves lined the wall to his left, and several framed diplomas and awards hung opposite them. The large desk sat directly in front of the shelves; and he thought it was slightly reminiscent of Aaron's desk at home—deep cherry wood with a few ornate details adorning the corners. A typical psychologist's couch—one that he was never, _ever_ going to lie down on—sat in the center of the room, flanked by two comfortable looking chairs. A small coffee table was positioned in front of the seating arrangement.

The room looked about as homey as an office _could_ look, but he knew why that was. He knew all the psychology behind it. It was designed in such a way to help people relax, get them to open up.

Get them to talk about their _feelings._

He didn't think it was really working all that well; he wasn't relaxed, and he certainly didn't want to talk.

The woman, blonde and very petite, stood from her desk and moved toward him, smiling as she removed her dark-rimmed glasses and folded them up.

"You must be Dr. Reid," she beamed, her voice soft and calm as she put her hand out in greeting, "I'm Dr. Martin, but you can call me Linda if you'd like."

He stared at the offered hand for a moment, then raised his own in a wave instead before curtly replying, "Hello, _Dr. Martin_."

He wasn't going to call her Linda.

He wasn't here to make friends.

He was here because it was a requirement for him to get back to work. That's it. All he wanted to do was jump through the designated hoops and be on his way as quickly as possible.

Was that too much to ask?

"Please, come on in," she pulled her hand away and motioned toward the couch and chairs instead, "Just sit wherever you'd like, Dr. Reid."

Quickly, he made his way to one of the chairs and sat down, silently wondering what she might construe from his choice not to sit on the lounge couch.

Probably something along the lines of _clinging to control, untrusting, closed off, and resistant to therapy._

She didn't comment on his decision, though, and her body language gave nothing away as she took a seat in the chair opposite him, a notebook in her hands. He couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from it while he anxiously fidgeted in his seat.

"So," she began, leaning forward just a bit, "How does it feel to be back?"

"Um," his throat was suddenly very dry and scratchy, and his hand came up to loosen the tie around his neck. He was hot and nervous, afraid of saying the wrong thing, and he couldn't stop his foot from tapping incessantly on the floor. "It ah, it feels good," he finally answered with a lilt, clearing his throat, "It was nice to see the rest of my team this morning."

"I'll bet. You're close with them?"

"Very."

"Do you socialize with them outside of work?"

"Ah, yes?"

Why on earth would she care about that? He wasn't here to talk about his friends or his social life; he was here to tick all the required boxes and get the hell out as fast as humanly possible.

He heard Aaron's knowing voice in his head and he scowled at it...

.

 _"I really want you to give therapy a chance, at least for one session. Just see how it goes. You never know...you may even find that you like it."_

.

" _You've got this. Just be honest and open and you'll kill it in there."_

.

Perhaps he could stand to be a _little_ more open than he was currently.

For Aaron.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he reluctantly added, "Derek Morgan's my best friend, Jennifer Jareau made me her son's godfather, David Rossi is like a father to me, I look up to and aspire to be just like Aaron Hotchner, and Penelope Garcia and Emily Prentiss have taught me how to let loose and have more fun. So yeah...I guess you could say that we're close and we socialize outside of work."

There.

He'd opened up.

"That's quite a glowing review of your team members." She stopped to jot something into her elusive notebook before continuing, "Would you say that you trust them with your life?"

"Absolutely," he nodded, without hesitation, "Trust is imperative in order to do the job we do. Our lives are at stake every single time we're out in the field."

"Yes, they most definitely are. So, if you go back out into the field with your team, will they be able to trust you with their lives?"

What kind of a question was that?

Of course they would be able to trust him.

Wouldn't they?

He could still be trusted to make decisions in stressful situations. In fact, he was known to do some of his best work while under extreme terror.

But, what if that had all changed now?

What if something triggered him while he was out in the field?

What if he got thrown into a flashback while they were chasing down an unsub?

What if he completely freaked out and something horrific happened because he wasn't able to focus solely on the situation at hand?

Something dreadful coiled up in the pit of his stomach, cold and heavy and sharp.

Terrifying.

He'd never be able to forgive himself if one of his friends got hurt because of him.

If Aaron got hurt.

Or worse.

"Dr. Reid?"

"Hm?" he looked back up to her, eyes wide as nails dug deep into his sweaty palms, "I'm sorry, um...what—what was the question?"

"I asked you if your team would be able to trust you with their lives, Dr. Reid."

"Ah, I um," he closed his eyes and swallowed down the lump of fear that had risen in his throat.

Aaron's voice once again rang in his ears...

.

" _Just be honest and open..."_

.

"I—I don't know," he finally answered, his heart sinking as he watched her write something else down in that wretched notebook.

"Why don't you know?"

His brows furrowed as he tried to think.

He knew he was getting a much better hold on all of his emotions, and the flashbacks were decreasing in frequency and severity. Also, when he did have one he came out of it a lot faster than he had in the beginning—during the immediate days following the attack.

But he was continuing to have them, and that thought troubled him.

He was compromised; he couldn't deny it.

He wasn't well.

He was still struggling.

"I'm...s-struggling," he sadly mumbled, echoing his thoughts, "I, ah, I still have visions...from the—the, um, attack. I can still be triggered, I guess. Sometimes it still throws me into a flashback. I suppose it could happen while we're out on a case, and I don't want my presence to be a danger to my team."

He looked up at her, heartbroken by his revelation. He was trying to stave off tears that were stinging his eyes...hatefully mocking him.

It was all over.

He'd pretty much sealed his fate with that confession. He was mentally unstable, and this doctor knew it. She wasn't going to sign off on him going back out into the field; she'd be crazy to do so.

How could he have even thought he was ready?

"Well, that's a start," she crossed her legs and sat her notebook and pen down on the table, smiling, "Now, shall we begin?"

"What?" he asked, confused and perplexed, "Didn't you hear what I just said? I—I just told you that I'm still struggling..."

"I know," Dr. Martin smiled, "And that tells me you want to get better. You recognize that you still have work to do—you're acknowledging that you're still in the process of recovery. So many people that are sent to talk to me are only doing so because it's a requirement. They don't really wanna be here and they'll say whatever they have to in order to prove to me that they're fit for duty, even if they know they're not." She paused, quirking a brow, her smile growing, "You don't have to be back at one hundred percent to return to work, Dr. Reid. All you have to do is be willing to admit that you aren't."

"But, what if I put someone in danger? You can't possibly be saying that it's safe for me to be out there...armed..." He was getting anxious just thinking about it, "There's no telling what could happen!"

"You're absolutely right, Dr. Reid. That's not what I'm saying," she answered in agreement, "It's probably not safe for you to be out chasing down suspects right away, but that doesn't mean it's not safe for you to be placed back on active duty. From what I've heard, your mind is one of your most powerful weapons. There's nothing I've seen so far that would make me believe you can't start using that weapon again to help your team."

He didn't know what to say, but she had a point. He could be out in the field without compromising the safety of the team if he stayed at their base of operations while they were on cases. As long as he didn't accompany them to apprehend any suspects there'd be no danger.

Not from him, anyway.

There was always a certain level of danger to their job.

Most of what he did didn't require him to leave the local station, though, and with time he could work up to the rest. Maybe someday he'd be capable of joining the others on raids again.

Someday.

He could live with that.

For the most part, the psychological evaluation had gone completely different than what he'd been expecting. It was surprising, really, and it left him a bit speechless.

"Now," Dr. Martin continued, "I've read through your file and the report SSA Hotchner submitted when you were put on your medical leave. You went through quite an ordeal."

"I—I guess so," he agreed, warily.

He didn't know where this was going, and he didn't want to think about what could possibly be in those reports. Aaron had assured him he'd only given Cruz the information that was absolutely necessary, but this doctor obviously knew some of the details. She was kind enough not to come right out and say it, though, which he was doing his best to appreciate.

Still, he dug his nails into his palms one again to keep himself grounded—to stop his body from trembling.

"Would you like to talk about anything you've been struggling with? From the incident, or during the last two weeks?"

No.

He definitely didn't want to talk about _the_ _incident_ , or anything associated with it.

But he knew he should.

He felt like Aaron was in his mind, urging him on and giving him strength; but part of him wanted to tell the man to shut the hell up and get out of his head.

He did, however, have to admit that being open and honest had turned out okay for him...at least so far.

Licking his lips, he tried to sit still as he answered, "Um, I ah...I've kinda felt like he's out there, I guess." His voice was weak and hoarse, his throat tight. "Th-The person who, who attacked me, I mean. I've felt like he's out there watching me. And there have been times when I thought I saw him. I thought he was following me."

"Do you still think that? Do you think he's really out there somewhere watching you?"

"No." He shook his head, certain, "No, I don't think that anymore." He'd put the idea out of his mind over the last week. There was no basis for it; it was just an unfortunate symptom of his PTSD, plain and simple. He didn't know where Parker was, but he did know the man wouldn't be wasting his time on him. "I thought he was stalking me when he was still in jail," he further explained, "So it was obviously all in my head. It wasn't real...it was just a delusion."

"Does that help give you comfort, Dr. Reid?" she asked, leaning forward and narrowing her eyes, examining his reaction, "Believing that it's merely psychosomatic?"

"Yes and no?" He laughed, the sound nervous and shrill as his hands twisted together in his lap, his feet continuously tapping on the floor, "I'm glad I don't have a sociopath following me around, of course, but, um, it's also a little... _unnerving._ I'm sure it's in my records that my mother is a paranoid schizophrenic. Institutionalized. So, ah, because of that things that seem to be _all in your head_ tend to make me feel a bit uneasy."

"That's perfectly understandable." She leaned back in her chair once more, "You're well past the normal age of onset for schizophrenia, as I'm sure you're well aware; but I can imagine living through a trauma like you did would put a lot of stress on your mental faculties, which could be concerning."

His body tensed and he gave her a curt nod, his jaw tightening. He hated to think about what his relationship with Parker may have done to him mentally. The thought alone sent an icy chill right through to his bones, and he fought against a shiver that was trying to roll down his spine.

He just wanted everything to go back to the way it was before he'd met Parker Simmons.

He wished he could travel back in time and never step foot in Mystic Books.

Never see that charming grin or hear that breathy laugh.

Never see those crystal blue eyes...beautifully hypnotic, undeniably intense, and piercingly severe.

Those eyes had been his downfall.

He closed his own for a moment, willing the man's face out of his mind and replacing it with warm brown eyes, a smooth, rich voice and a beautifully dimpled smile.

"It's been...difficult," he finally whispered.

The doctor simply nodded her head and moved on, not lingering on the subject—thankfully.

They continued to talk for another thirty-seven minutes and twelve seconds about what had happened to him and how he'd spent his two weeks while on medical leave. The conversation was surprisingly pleasant after they'd gotten past the initial questioning, and it had actually flowed quite smoothly. He'd found himself relaxing just a bit in his chair, enjoying the intellectual stimulation and friendly banter she supplied.

Then Dr. Martin picked up her notebook and wrote something inside, and his entire body tensed up again.

He kind of hated the notebook.

When she looked back to him she gave him another warm smile, "Dr. Reid, I want to thank you for your candidness today. I know it wasn't an easy task. If it's alright with you I'd like to continue our discussions once a week, cases permitting of course."

"Are you going to let me work if I say no?"

It was a childish question, but he didn't particularly feel like being coerced into weekly therapy sessions. That was just another form of manipulation.

They stared each other down for a minute as he waited for her answer, and he noted what a great poker player she'd be—he couldn't read her face at all.

"Yes, Dr. Reid," she finally sighed, humor evident in her tone, "I'll sign off on your release whether you agree to see me or not because I feel that you're of sound enough mind to return to active duty, with limited restriction until your triggers are less pronounced. But I would still appreciate getting to chat with you some more, on a regular basis."

He felt his heart start to race with excitement at her words. He almost didn't believe her; it just seemed too good to be true.

He was fit for duty.

He was allowed to stay.

Relief washed over him and he found himself grinning from ear to ear, his cheeks aching with happiness.

Maybe he could talk to her again.

"Okay," he murmured, blushing.

"Wonderful." She stood and stretched her hand back out toward him, and that time he quickly shook it. "I would also recommend that you find someone else you feel comfortable talking with other than myself. Doing so might help you work through certain feelings you may have concerning what you went through. There are a plethora of emotions that can manifest themselves after trauma...fear, shame, guilt. You need to let those feelings out or they could very easily become a problem."

His ears perked up at _shame_ and _guilt_ , but he simply nodded his head and turned to leave.

When he reached the door, he looked back to Dr. Martin, "Um, thank you Dr...ah...Linda."

"You're most welcome," she chuckled, "Now, go and rejoin your team Dr. Reid. I'm sure they've missed you."

* * *

Spencer couldn't believe he was actually here, sitting in _his_ chair, at _his_ desk, looking at _his_ computer screen while straightening _his_ pens and pencils, and staring at _his_ red velvet cupcake. He felt kind of like a kid in a candy store, except instead of eating candy he was sifting through reports, forms and emails.

But there were also cupcakes.

And coffee.

Really, that was better than any candy.

When he'd first entered the bullpen after meeting with Dr. Martin he'd been greeted with another warm and enthusiastic welcome from his teammates. They'd all gathered around him, ceremoniously—and rather embarrassingly—escorting him to his desk where everything was just as he'd left it over two weeks ago.

It was almost perfect.

The only thing that could have made it better was if there'd actually been a stack of reports waiting for him in his inbox.

It had been a little disheartening to see the empty metal tray, but he'd given Morgan and Emily his best puppy dog eyes and they'd handed over some of their reports. It hadn't taken too much convincing on his part, but it had required a bit more effort than he was used to. He assumed it was because they didn't want to weigh him down with too much to do on his first day back.

That, or they just didn't want to look like big jerks.

The reason for their resistance didn't matter to him, though; he'd still broken them down.

He'd broken them and they'd played right into his hands.

And now he had a lovely stack of paperwork adorning his desk, and he couldn't be happier.

Well...almost.

There was one other thing that could have made him happier.

Every so often throughout the morning he'd glance up at Hotch's office and smile as he watched him through the blinds. Even though they were now both in the same building, he still missed him, and he longed to go up and talk to him—if for nothing more than to just hear his voice.

However, Aaron was currently on the phone, and pacing back and forth in front of his desk.

Probably not the best time for a visit, he supposed.

He couldn't help but wonder who the man was talking to, though. It didn't look like the most pleasant of conversations, and he hated seeing Aaron upset, but he tried to put the thought out of his mind as he brought his attention back to his own work.

At eleven he stopped and stood from his desk, stretching his stiff body and contemplating a refill of his coffee.

"Do you need anything from the kitchen, Em?"

Prentiss looked up from her desk and smirked, dark eyes glimmering. "Awww, you're so sweet," she gushed, handing him her cup, "I missed my little coffee lackey."

He just took the offered mug and smiled at her, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

It really was nice to be back.

However, when he made it to the little kitchenette he began to rethink the whole _good to be back_ thing. The pot was empty, and there was a thick, sticky sludge bubbling in the bottom of it. This was an all too familiar scene in the BAU kitchen, and the smell of burning coffee was something he hadn't missed at all over the last two weeks. Anderson must have been the last one to come in and pour a cup. He never understood why that man seemed to have such a hard time starting a fresh pot if he took the last of the old one. It wasn't a difficult concept.

Sighing, he sat the two cups in his hands down on the counter and got to work cleaning the pot in the sink. As he was readying a new filter he heard footsteps coming up behind him, followed by a familiar and amused huff.

"Anderson again, huh?"

"Yeah," he returned the huff, turning to see Morgan grinning back at him, "I guess some things never change." He finished preparing the filter and coffee grounds, then pushed start and waited for the machine to percolate, watching as his friend moved closer. When Morgan hopped up to sit on the counter, he frowned. "That's highly unsanitary, you know."

"Oh come on, Kid," Derek's grin grew as he kicked his dangling feet against the lower cabinets like an unruly child, "Sometimes you just gotta live a little."

"If you say so, Morgan," he hummed as the coffee finished brewing. He picked up the pot and filled his and Emily's cups, then quirked a brow at Derek in silent question, smirking when the man held out his own mug. As he poured Morgan a cup he sighed, "But I do have to admit, I'm certainly ready to start living a little again."

"Yeah?" His friend's voice went from playful and teasing to serious and concerned in an instant, "How you really holdin' up?"

"Um..." he paused, unsure of how to answer. He was happy to be here, back at work with everyone, but a part of him felt exposed and vulnerable outside the quiet security of Aaron's home. He didn't want to admit it, though. "I'm doing okay."

"Have you heard anything about a trial date yet?"

He internally cringed at the question, prickling just a little. It was a knee-jerk response to anything having to do with Parker, but he was getting better at hiding it. Although, the way Morgan was looking at him told him he'd failed this time.

"No," he shook his head and bit his lip, thinking, "Unfortunately it could be a while. He, ah, waived his right to a speedy trial."

"Yeah, Garcia told me. I was still hoping they'd at least set a date or somethin'. You know...move it along a little," the man muttered, "Reid, I'm sorry you have to deal with all this shit."

"Yeah, well, I kind of asked for it..."

"Hell no you didn't, Reid." Morgan glared at him, the veins in his neck bulging and his jaw twitching. He was obviously trying to keep his voice down as he vehemently hissed, "How can you even say something like that?"

"No...I—I'm sorry, Morgan—look," he spluttered, huffing in exasperation, "It's just that...well...I know I should have walked away from him a long time ago and I didn't. I stayed. It was a stupid decision, but it's the one I made. I stayed with him, and I let him do whatever he wanted. Which, as you know, ended rather badly for me."

"Reid, you didn't let him—"

"Wait," he cut the older man off, raising his hand to silence him, "I'm not finished. In a way I _did_ let him, Morgan. And because of that I used to think it was all my fault...what happened, what he did to me...but now I know that it wasn't." He noticed Derek's tense posture relax just a bit, and he lowered his hand back to the counter top. "Aaron's been helping me deal with it all. He's helped me process it and realize it wasn't my fault; and he's helped me forgive myself, I guess."

"I'm glad, Kid." Morgan paused and quirked a brow at him, grinning, " _Aaron_ , huh?"

Oh.

Oops.

He didn't realize he'd let that slip. He'd never called Hotch by his first name before all this happened, and even if he had, he wouldn't have done it at work.

"So..." Derek gave him a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, "Somethin' you wanna tell me about you and Hotch?"

"Wh-What?" he asked, shrugging as he turned to fidget with the sugar packets on the counter.

He was desperately trying to keep the blush from his cheeks, but he could still feel them burning.

His efforts were totally in vain.

"Come on...I've seen the way you two look at each other, even before you moved in with him." Morgan hopped off the counter and started adding creamer to his own coffee, "And I've seen how Hotch is when he's 'taking lunch calls'," he used air quotes for emphasis, "He gets this giddy grin all over his face, and I know he's talkin' to you, Genius. Don't even _try_ to deny it."

A smile crept across his lips before he could stop it, "He—He gets a giddy grin on his face?"

"Mhm."

He realized _he_ probably had a giddy grin right then, and he tried to school his emotions, clearing his throat and bringing his attention back to doctoring his coffee.

"It's nothing, Morgan," he muttered, "I mean, not really. I don't think..."

"You sure you're ready, Kid?"

He looked back up to his friend's face, those brows furrowed as dark eyes tried to stare into him, tried to read him.

Profile him.

"Hey, no inter-team profiling," he playfully chastised, slapping the man's shoulder.

It was nice to know Morgan was looking out for him, but he couldn't stop himself from wondering where all that concern had been when he'd started seeing Parker in the first place. He'd been with the man for almost a _year_ , and no one did anything to help him until he'd asked for it himself—until he'd been beaten and raped. It wasn't Derek's job to make sure he stayed out of trouble in his personal life—or any one else's job for that matter—but it still stung a bit to know that no one noticed anything was wrong.

Except for Aaron, but even he didn't say anything until it was already too late.

"I think I'm ready," he finally answered the question, stirring his coffee, "And...we're taking things slow."

"You're living with him, Spencer. That's not very slow."

His shoulders slumped at that. Maybe Derek was right. He was doing a lot better now, so perhaps it was time for him to find his own place. Give him and Aaron some space to sort out their feelings for one another and make sure this was what they both truly wanted.

The thought of moving out made something inside him ache, but it also made sense.

Unfortunately.

"Just know that if he hurts you, I'm gonna kick his ass. I don't give a damn if he's my boss."

He grinned at that, and was about to respond when Garcia popped in, jingling in all her sparkles and neon. She was carrying a stack of tablets, and one paper folder. "We've got a case, Chicklets."

"Damn, we go two weeks with nothin'...then on your very first day back we get called away," Derek joked, "What's up with that?"

"Maybe fate didn't think you could handle anything without me," he coolly answered, taking his and Emily's coffees and moving back toward their desks.

"Oh, I see how it is," Morgan groused, "You think you're pretty hot stuff, huh?"

"I _have_ been told that a time or two."

"Yeah, well...Hotch doesn't count."

* * *

Garcia stood at the front of the room looking sullen while the rest of the team positioned themselves around the conference room table. Hotch sat next to Reid, for which he was more grateful than he wanted to let on. The man's close proximity had become a huge comfort to him, and he knew whatever they were about to see wasn't gonna be good.

It never was.

He had no idea how he was going to react to it.

"Okay, my doves," Garcia sighed, pointing the remote in her hands toward the screen on the wall, "I'm warning you in advance, the ick is strong with this one."

She pushed a button and the screen instantly lit up, showcasing two large pictures of deceased women lying on their backs in what looked like a grassy area. They appeared to have been positioned there. They were naked, a very small amount of blood pooling beneath their heads and bruises covering their necks. The markings were consistent with strangulation. It was tough to look at, but the thing that disturbed Spencer the most about the images were their eyes.

They'd been cut out, rather crudely.

He tried not to cringe at the sight.

JJ, it seemed, was less successful in her attempt.

Penelope pushed the button again, and two smaller pictures popped up next to the larger ones. These were the much happier _before_ images, which depicted a blonde and a red head, smiling and beautiful and very much alive.

"These two poor, unfortunate souls are Jessica Harvelle, 23, and Charlie Moore, 20. They're both from Dallas, Texas and they were also both what you would call working girls. Rather high end...if there is such a thing—"

"Oh there is," Morgan muttered, interrupting her. The room fell quiet at his comment, everyone turning to stare at him. Garcia was huffing exasperatedly and Emily was trying desperately to suppress a snicker. "Hey, come on guys..." he sighed, "That's not at all what I meant."

"Sure it wasn't," Emily smirked, "We believe you..."

" _Anyway_ ," Penelope continued, her eyes silently chiding Morgan and Prentiss for their unprofessionalism, "They were both found shot in the back of the head with a .44-caliber gun. They'd been, um," she paused, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment as she fidgeted with the chunky bracelets around her wrist, "They were, uh, raped...repeatedly."

Garcia stopped talking and the room went silent again, causing Spencer to look up from the notes he'd been studying to see all eyes on him, everyone giving him wary looks. Aaron's hand came over to rest lightly on his knee under the table, out of view, and he met the man's concerned gaze.

They were worried about him.

He could understand why, but it was unnecessary. He was doing okay. Admittedly this wasn't the best case for him to come back to, for obvious reasons, but he could get through it. If he wanted to keep doing this job, which he very much did, he'd have to get through this case and a lot worse.

There was always gonna be worse.

He pulled his eyes away from Aaron's and looked around the room at the rest of the team, shyly reassuring them, "You guys, it's alright. Stop worrying...I'm fine." The hand on his knee squeezed just a bit, and he glanced back to the other man. "Really, Hotch," he murmured, lower, "I'm okay."

"Alright," Aaron softly replied, then looked back to Penelope, "Garcia, please continue."

"Oh, um, right. Okay," she cleared her throat and looked back to the screen, "Well, as you can all see—no pun intended—they're also both missing something very important...and after this I'm gonna need to look at a thousand pictures of cute, fluffy baby animals to burn the images from my mind."

"Why'd he take their eyes?" Prentiss asked, her mouth turning down in a disgusted frown.

"Trophy?" Derek guessed.

"The eyes are commonly referred to as the windows to the soul," Reid jumped in then, clicking into a groove, "So maybe our unsub thinks that taking them gives him some kind of power over his victims' afterlife? Or, the eyes could be significant to him in some other way...the color, maybe?"

He was grasping.

"Garcia, what color eyes did the victims have?" Hotch asked.

"Ah, let's see," she blew up the two smaller images, "Looks like one set is blue, one green, sir. But also..." she rummaged through her report as she held up a finger, "Oh, we've got a trifecta. Brown."

"Brown?" Rossi inquired.

"Yes, Silver Stallion. Jo Bradbury." She pushed the button on the remote once more and a new picture appeared on the screen. A pretty blonde haired, brown eyed woman smiled back at them. She was holding a kitten in her arms that Garcia promptly cooed at before collecting herself. "She was reported missing late last night. Victim number one, Jessica Harvelle was reported missing on July 9th and vic two, Charlie Moore on August 10th. Their bodies were found on July 14th and August 14th, respectively. The reports stated that they'd only been dead for maybe two hours before they were discovered in public parks...and in very highly trafficked areas of those parks."

"And today's September 9th," JJ added.

"So he keeps them alive for several days and repeatedly assaults them, then cuts their eyes out and shoots them in the head," Rossi reiterated, "That's a lot of rage."

"He wants to make them suffer first," Spencer added, leafing through his hard copy of the files, reading all the information for a third time, "And actually, Rossi, the coroner's report states that the eye removal was done postmortem."

"Well, that's something," Prentiss sarcastically mumbled.

"So if the unsub sticks to this time table, we've got four—five days, tops, before we have another body on our hands," Aaron stated grimly.

"Yes, sir," Garcia quickly agreed, "I'm afraid September 14th is the deadline for Jo Bradbury."

"He also doesn't kill them where they were found. There's not enough blood," Morgan took up the conversation, "But he makes sure to dump them someplace public."

"He _wants_ them to be found," JJ sighed, "He's not trying to hide the bodies at all."

"No, he's not," Reid murmured in agreement. His mind was racing through multiple possibilities, theories and motives, "He wants to make a spectacle of them. He's depersonalizing them by taking their clothes and dumping their bodies out in the open. He's treating them like trash."

"Alright everyone," Hotch stood and gathered up his papers and tablet, "We'll finish the briefing on the jet. Right now we need to get to Texas. Wheels up in thirty."

They all stood in quiet contemplation, then piled out of the conference room to grab their go-bags, leaving Spencer and Aaron alone for the first time all day.

"You know, you can sit this one out if you need to, Reid," Hotch stated, voice holding little emotion.

Spencer could tell he was in full on SSA mode, stoic and reserved.

"No, Aaron—" he stopped himself, mentally correcting the slip. They were at work. He wasn't Aaron right now, he was Hotch. He was the Unit Chief, and his boss. "No, Hotch," he shook his head, "Just because part of the unsub's M.O. hits a little too close to home for me doesn't mean I'm gonna freak out. I can still do my job. Besides, I've been cleared for the field."

"I know," Aaron gave him a small smile, "Dr. Martin was quite taken by you."

He quirked a brow at that, questioning.

"I saw her report," Hotch clarified, "You're going to be seeing her once a week?"

There was a surprised yet pleased tone in his voice that made Spencer stand up a little straighter. He gave him a silent nod in answer.

"I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," he smiled, blushing at the praise.

"Alright, if you're sure you feel up to this," Aaron paused, bringing his hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind Spencer's ear, "Then let's get going."

At that, they fell into the roles of SSAs Hotchner and Dr. Reid.

And they got to work.

.


	25. Shine

_The case is more background dressing...I just needed a way to get Spencer back out in the field._

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five

Shine

.

Once the team arrived in Dallas, they headed straight for the local police station instead of the hotel. They needed to get started as quickly as possible; and after introductions had been made, they settled into the conference room set up for them while Hotch divvied up the assignments. He sent Morgan and JJ off to interview all the families of the victims while Rossi and Prentiss went to the latest dump site. Reid stayed behind, working on the geographical profile and sifting through every piece of evidence the LEO's had compiled throughout their own investigation. Hotch took point, fielding phone calls and answering questions; putting out fires and helping wherever he was needed.

Part of Aaron's self appointed duties, Spencer assumed, was keeping an eye on him. Hotch made sure to give him space, but he could still feel the older man hovering protectively around the area.

The man was making his presence known, but Spencer didn't particularly mind it.

Having Aaron close by gave him a sense of security while in an unfamiliar environment. He was surrounded by strangers—alpha male types—and while he didn't believe any of them were truly a threat to him or his safety, their presence still put him on edge. Also, having an endless supply of fresh coffee delivered to him by his boss was an added perk. He could definitely see himself getting used to being supplied with caffeine by his own hot alpha male.

He closed his eyes and shook the thought away, silently berating himself for even indulging in the idea. This was neither the time nor place to be thinking about such things. They had a murderer to catch and a victim to save.

Hopefully.

The last case he'd been on hadn't ended so well, though. They hadn't gotten there in time; they'd been too slow, and the unsub had killed the victim before they could apprehend him. He didn't want a repeat, so he reined in his inappropriate thoughts and got back to work.

By the end of the day, he'd finished the geographical profile and established a general hunting area using the information Morgan and JJ had obtained from the families and from the coroner's reports. It appeared that all three women had preferred to work in the same five mile radius, and both bodies were found within that same area as well. Therefore, he believed their unsub was keeping Jo Bradbury somewhere nearby, and he'd had Garcia search for locations that were slightly out of the way, yet still inside their target zone. Places that could lend themselves easily to holding someone captive and torturing them without being seen or heard while doing it. Those results narrowed down their suspect pool significantly, and the tech analyst was currently looking into all the men left on her list.

It was a good start. He felt like he'd actually helped contribute to the case, and it was definitely better than sitting around the house all day twiddling his thumbs. He had a purpose again—he was working toward a goal and making a difference.

There wasn't much left for any of them to do now, though, at least for the night. They were all exhausted and in need of sleep, so they packed up their things and piled into the two government-issue SUVs that had been waiting for them when they'd arrived.

As they headed toward the hotel, Spencer leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He was certainly feeling the day, his body aching from the stress of traveling and the nature of the case. There'd been no time for him to take a break and lie down, which he wasn't used to, so he was definitely looking forward to getting to his room, showering and collapsing into bed.

However, they did also need to eat; a fact that Morgan was making sure everyone knew.

He really couldn't blame the other man; he could go for something, too. He tried to think back on the last meal he'd had. Hotch had attempted to get him to eat a sandwich from the vending machine at the precinct, but he'd looked at it with disgust and promptly went back to his maps and reports, ignoring its existence all together. So the last actual meal he'd eaten...if it could even be called a meal...had been for breakfast that morning. It had been the celebratory pop tarts he'd shared with Aaron and Jack. A smile curved his lips at the memory, but a moment later his stomach vehemently growled its disapproval at the same.

The only other thing he'd had all day was the endless coffee Aaron had supplied him with and half a bag of chips from the same vending machine the questionable sandwich had come from.

So before checking into the hotel and calling it a night, they stopped at a restaurant across the street to grab a quick dinner.

The place seemed nice enough, and they were seated at a large round table toward the back.

As Spencer sat there watching his friends read over their menus, he was reminded of all the times—good and bad—that they'd found themselves gathered around similar tables throughout the years...in practically every state in the country. It felt right to be here, with these people—his team, his best friends, his family. He glanced over toward Aaron, who was sitting by his side studying his own menu, and he smiled at the sight.

It felt right to be here with _him._

Hotch must have sensed eyes on him because he looked up and gave Reid a small half smile, leaning in slightly, "You doing okay?"

"Mhm," he nodded, "I'm perfect."

Aaron's hand came down to curl around his for just a moment, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He let go before anyone noticed. "Try to order something with at least a little nutritional value," he playfully murmured, although Reid could tell he was slightly concerned, "I don't think pop tarts, coffee and chips constitute an adequate diet for someone still recovering from an injury. Or, well, anyone for that matter."

He gave him a sheepish grin and hummed in agreement. Hotch did have a point, and in the end he ordered a turkey club and a bowl of fruit, which seemed to appease the man well enough.

The food arrived shortly after, and he couldn't stop his mind from racing through all the details of the case over and over again while he ate. The one thing he kept coming back to consistently was the disturbing ritual of removing the victims' eyes. It was just too specific, and a hell of a lot of trouble for it not to be very important. It was obviously significant in some way, he just needed to dig deeper to figure out what that was and why.

He needed to get into the unsub's mind.

Think like him.

Think about the eyes.

Human eyes are complex.

They're remarkable machines that house over two million parts all working together in perfect unison to distinguish between ten million different colors.

They're how people see the world around them.

They don't discriminate.

Eyes are supposed to see everything...the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the simple and the intricate.

But what if they didn't?

What if their unsub was angry because he _hadn't_ been seen? What if he'd been overlooked for something in particular? Something important? Something significant to him?

Like a job.

Or a promotion.

Or even a date.

Most likely a date, actually, given the sexual nature of the victims' work and the repeated rapes.

It made sense.

Maybe their unsub had been rejected by someone—a potential love interest, perhaps—and he was using surrogates to channel his rage...attempting to get back at the one person he was truly angry with. He was making his victims see him before killing them. Then he was taking their eyes as a trophy. If that were the case, it would only be a matter of time before this man worked up to his real goal, taking revenge on the actual woman who'd rejected him.

"Earth to Dr. Reid..."

A hand moved back and forth in front of his face, and it pulled him from his musings. He looked up to see Prentiss eyeing him warily and Hotch examining him with apprehension plastered across his face. Morgan, JJ and Rossi had also gone quiet, all of their attention focused squarely on him as well.

Just the way he hated it.

"Reid, what happened?"

Aaron was trying to hold back the fear in his voice, but it wasn't working. Reid knew exactly what the man was thinking; what they were all most likely thinking, for that matter. He'd zoned out, and they were probably worried that he'd just had another flashback. He didn't have time to explain what was going on, though.

"Sorry, but I need to make a call."

Without elaborating further, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Garcia's number. Less than a ring later her bubbly voice was humming through the line.

" _Talk to me, Junior G-Man!"_

"Garcia, I need you to see if any of the men on the list we gave you this afternoon suffered from some sort of rejection recently. Say, within the last six months?"

" _Okaaay...but what exactly are we talkin' about here? Just romantic entanglements, or is anything fair game?"_

"Anything, really. But a romantic rejection would make the most sense considering that all the victims were prostitutes and they were sexually assaulted."

" _You got it, my adorable super genius. I shall scour the depths of social media, the heights of phone records and the jungles of email, then call back post haste. Take care, chic geek. Garcia out!"_

He smiled and hung up, slipping his phone back into his pocket. The table was still quiet, everyone continuing to stare at him; but their faces were much more amused now and far less worried, which helped to put him at ease.

"Sorry," he apologized again, shrugging, "I just—I guess I had a hunch."

"No need to apologize, Reid," JJ smiled fondly, folding her arms on the table, "It's just really great to see the old you coming back again."

"Yeah, Kid, it looks like fate may have known exactly what she was doing by not givin' us a case until you were back," Morgan grinned.

"It was nothing, really," he argued, feeling heat creep into his face.

He really did hate being the center of attention.

"No, it was definitely something," Aaron murmured, low and close to his ear, "It was absolutely, perfectly you."

* * *

When they finally arrived at the hotel, they were all dragging themselves into the lobby by what felt like sheer will power alone.

Everyone looked spent.

Reid certainly was.

It'd been a long, grueling day, and he was feeling the effects of it, both physically and mentally. His body was weary, exhaustion creeping deep into his bones. It settled there like a heavy weight, pushing down on him until he just wanted to curl into a ball right there and go to sleep. He wasn't used to doing a whole lot, and it amazed him how two weeks of relative inactivity could zap his energy reserves that drastically. Of course, he realized a big part of his fatigue was due to the fact that, although he didn't want to admit it, he really was still recovering from what had happened.

What had been done to him.

His body just wasn't up to par yet, and the only thing that would change that was more time and more healing.

Still, he hoped he could get back into the swing of things quickly; but until then, there was always extra coffee.

He opened his eyes when Hotch walked up to them, room keys in hand. It was odd, though, since he didn't remember closing them to begin with. Stifling a yawn, he listened as Aaron passed out the room assignments.

"JJ and Prentiss take a room," he handed them a key, "Dave with Morgan, and Reid's with me. It's been a long day, so let's all try to get some rest. We'll meet down here at seven to head back to the station."

Aaron's voice left no room for argument, and Spencer felt several sets of eyes staring at him.

Again.

When he looked up, Emily was giving him a little smirk. He narrowed his gaze at her, trying to read her mind, trying to figure out exactly what she was thinking...what she knew. He could tell she had to know _something._...she'd been shooting him odd looks all day.

He couldn't figure her out, though.

The woman was like a steel trap.

The group rode the elevator to the third floor in relative silence, then separated, and Reid thought he heard Dave mumble something to Hotch about trying to get at least a little bit of sleep, his gruff voice filled with innuendo.

Either he was delirious from exhaustion, completely paranoid, or _everyone_ knew something was going on between him and Aaron.

Hell, maybe it was a bit of all three.

He tried to put the thought out of his mind as he followed Hotch to their shared room, and when they entered he threw his bags on top of the bed closest to the door.

There were two of them.

Two beds.

One room.

He wasn't exactly sure what to expect from the sleeping arrangements. They hadn't made a real habit of sleeping in the same bed together, let alone in the same room, but it had happened a few times.

Usually only when he was struggling.

Except for last night.

Last night there'd been no nightmares or flashbacks that had lead to them sharing a bed; Hotch had just asked him to. Of course, he'd ended up freaking out later on, after they'd gotten too worked up—too carried away with one another—but that hadn't been the catalyst.

Aaron had simply wanted him to be there...

.

" _I don't think I want to let you go, Spencer. Will you stay with me tonight?"_

.

He smiled as Aaron's words echoed in his mind, then the feel of hands slowly moving down his arms and a warm chest pressing up against his back brought him out of his reverie.

"What's running through that head of yours?" Aaron murmured against the nape of his neck, arms circling his waist, holding him close.

The man's breath ghosting across his skin gave him goosebumps, and he leaned further into the touch.

"I was kind of wondering about the, ah, sleeping arrangements?" he rasped, head cloudy as he felt Aaron's bulge push up against his ass. Suddenly the room felt ten degrees hotter and his own pants seemed much too tight. "There's...um...two beds, and I just didn't know if..."

His words trailed off as he was gently turned around to face Hotch, and the man smiled back at him with those perfect dimples and chocolate eyes. His mouth went dry at the sight and he licked his lips as he waited for Aaron to speak.

"Spencer, I'd love to hold you tonight," he began, stroking knuckles down Reid's cheek, "But if you'd feel more comfortable sleeping in separate beds then that's fine, too. Remember, you're the one in control here. You can tell me what you want and I won't get angry or upset with you. Okay?"

"Okay," he sighed, his body relaxing with the reassurance. Leaning in, he gave Aaron's lips a light brush with his own. "I'm gonna go change and get ready for bed," he whispered, ending the kiss, "But then, um, I think I'd really like it if you held me."

There was a soft chuckle and Aaron gave him another kiss, this time to the forehead. "That sounds like a wonderful idea," he sighed, "Go get ready and I'll call Jack."

He frowned at that, looking over to the clock by the TV. It was already after ten; Jack should be asleep by now.

"It's late, Hotch," he stated, "It's well past his bedtime."

"It is, but when we're out of town I call him at night," Aaron patiently explained, "I don't want to miss telling him goodnight, even when I'm not there. With our job, you never know what might happen. Jessica already knows to expect the call, and I feel like it's worth keeping him up a little later for."

That made a perfect kind of sense to him, and he nodded his head in understanding. With their line of work, if something went wrong on a case it could be catastrophic. Every time they walked out their door, there was a very real possibility that they'd never walk back through it. Someday one of them might not make it home.

That thought sent an ache through his chest, and it made him long to talk to the boy himself. He missed Jack terribly, and he wanted to tell him goodnight as well—make sure he knew exactly how much he cared for him. He didn't want to intrude on Aaron's special time with his son, though, so he gave the man another quick nod before moving to his go bag. He pulled Spike out and sat him on the table between the two beds.

Aaron glanced at the stuffed animal, smiling at it before turning that smile on Reid, "I didn't know you brought Spike with you."

"I just didn't like the thought of not having him close by," he shyly answered, ears and cheeks burning.

It was silly, really, but the little stegosaurus was kind of like his security blanket...and it was a part of Jack that he could to keep near. Hotch just gave him an understanding nod, and he reached back into his bag, grabbing a pair of pajamas and a smaller bag filled with toiletries, then headed toward the bathroom to change and brush his teeth.

When he reemerged a few minutes later Aaron was sitting on the edge of the far bed with his phone up to his ear, voice hushed and clearly tired.

"Yeah buddy, I miss you too... ….No, it'll be at least another day..." Hotch looked over at him as he moved closer, "...Yeah, he's right here. Hold on—" He pulled the phone away for a moment, placing a hand over the microphone. "Jack wants to talk to you," he whispered, "He wants to know if you'll read him another chapter in your book. I said I'd ask, but if you're too tired—"

"No," he quickly replied, unable to stop the smile that crossed his lips as he shook his head, "I'm not too tired, it's fine. I'd love to talk with him."

He wanted to hear Jack's voice, and his heart filled with joy at the prospect of continuing their story. He'd been a little disappointed that they were going to miss out on that time together while he was away.

Hotch smiled at him and brought the phone back to his ear, "Okay, here he is. I'll talk to you tomorrow, buddy... ….I love you, too..."

Hotch handed him the phone, and he watched as the man pulled his own bag open, grabbing some clothes and a toothbrush. Aaron motioned toward the bathroom before moving in that direction; and once he was out of sight, Reid gave the boy his full, undivided attention.

"Hey, Jackie."

" _Hi, Penny! Dad said you guys are gonna be gone for another day."_

There was disappointment in the boy's voice.

"Yeah, Kiddo, we are," he sighed, "It could be longer, but we'll do our very best to catch the bad guy as fast as we can so we can come home."

" _You can do it 'cause you're a superhero!"_

He smiled at that, and laughed as he picked Spike up and hugged him close.

" _I really want you to come back home. I miss you a lot."_

"Oh, Jackie, I miss you too. _Soooo_ much." The thought of coming _back home_ to Jack was almost overwhelming to him, and his stomach flip-flopped in yearning while tears stung at his eyes. He imagined what he was feeling toward Jack could be described a tiny bit like the emotions a parent feels for their child; although, it seemed quite odd to think that he'd developed such strong feelings for the boy in such a short amount of time. Then again, Jack was Aaron Hotchner's son, so he shouldn't be too surprised. He was a remarkable young man, just like his father. "I can't wait to come home and see you."

" _Hey, Pen?"_

"Yeah?"

" _I was kinda sorta wondering if you could, you know, maybe..."_ there was a pause on the other end, nervous, _"Maybe read the next chapter of our book to me? Pleeeease?"_

"Okay," he chuckled, "I'd like that. Are you already in bed?"

" _Yep."_

He climbed onto the bed closest to the bathroom and propped a pillow up against the headboard, then leaned back, situating himself until he felt comfortable.

"Do you have the book with you?"

" _Mhm."_

"Okay. I want you to read along with me."

And for the next half an hour Reid slowly recited _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ from memory while Jack followed along in the book, and the smile never faded from his face.

When the conversation finally ended, he turned to the other bed where Hotch had settled in and handed him back his phone. Aaron was lying on his side, his upper body perched on an elbow and his lower half covered by the blankets. He hadn't realized during the call that the man had been watching him the entire time, after he'd returned from the bathroom.

"You're amazing with him," Aaron murmured, "We're both so lucky to have you in our lives."

"I feel like I'm the lucky one," he countered, "I don't exactly know where I'd be right now if it weren't for the two of you."

"I do. You'd still be right here, right now, healing and shining through this case," Hotch gushed, then paused and simpered, "Although, you might be rooming with Morgan instead of me."

"Gee, you think?" he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. His smile faded slightly as he thought about the last two weeks. "Everything's changed so much in such a short amount of time, hasn't it?" he asked, a nervous lilt to his voice, "You know, sometimes I wonder if this is all real or if I'm just imagining that it is."

The chilling nightmare he'd had that first week shot through his mind, and he shuddered as he remembered Parker's awful words...

.

" _I've been right here with you all along. Don't you remember? We've been together this whole time, baby. Just you and me."_

" _N-No...I-I got out...I got away...Aaron...he—he h-helped me. He came for me, took me away...he took me to the hospital..."_

" _Oh you poor, sweet, dear little thing. Fuck, baby...you really have lost your mind, haven't you? Good thing crazy's a damn sexy look on you..."_

.

He knew that had only been a dream and this truly was his reality, but it still sent shivers cascading down his spine.

"Come here."

"Hm?" he looked to Aaron, watching as the man moved over in his bed and pulled the covers up, opening a space just the right size for him.

"Come here," Hotch repeated, "It's late. We need to get some sleep."

"Oh." He hesitated for just a second, then gave a quick nod and lifted off the bed he was currently on to crawl in next to Aaron, his back resting comfortably against the man's chest.

Familiar.

This was kind of his favorite way to sleep now, spooned together as Aaron's arms and warmth surrounded him—keeping him safe.

"I love being right here," he sighed, "With you."

The arms holding him tightened, and he felt the rumble of Aaron's words against his back as breath warmed his neck, "I love having you right here. More than you know."

"Aaron, what are we doing?" he suddenly asked, "What's happening between us?"

Everyone seemed to think something was going on with them, and that was most certainly true, but he didn't know exactly what it was. He'd been trying to figure it out—define it—but he couldn't.

"We're getting to know one another," Hotch answered, running his hand slowly along Reid's side, "We're learning more about each other." There was a kiss to his neck as that hand moved down to caress his stomach. Fingers tickled his lower abdomen and his muscles fluttered and tensed at the touch, "We're moving forward...together."

He had to bite his lip to stifle a moan as Hotch continued to lick and nip, continued to move that hand along his body; and when it settled over his stomach a part of him wished it would move just a tiny bit lower...wished those agile fingers would dip down below the waistband of his pants and feel all of him.

He closed his eyes, mentally dousing himself in cold water to halt his erotic thoughts; it was late, and they really did need to get some sleep.

Something Morgan had said earlier in the day kept coming back to him, though, and he couldn't get it out of his mind...

.

" _You're living with him, Spencer. That's not very slow."_

.

He wanted to keep spending time with Hotch and Jack, but he didn't want to overstay his welcome or rush into anything too quickly. When he thought about it, he'd gone from living with his abusive boyfriend to living with Aaron; and perhaps what he really needed to do now was be on his own for a while. That seemed like the appropriate next step in his recovery.

"Maybe...maybe I should start looking for a new place," he mumbled, chewing anxiously on the inside of his cheek.

The only reply he got at first was silence, and his stomach dropped at the implications. If Aaron agreed with him, he didn't know how he was going to feel.

"If that's what you really want," Hotch softly intoned a minute later.

He could hear the pain in Aaron's voice, and he rolled over to look him in the eyes.

That's not what he really wanted. He didn't want to move out at all, and he didn't much care if that was healthy behavior or not if he were being absolutely honest. He was happy with the way things were—with where he was at—and he wanted to stay there; not because he didn't think he was capable of living alone again, but simply because he didn't think he'd been this happy in _years._

Being with Aaron and Jack made him happy.

"But you're more than welcome to stay," Hotch continued, threading his fingers through Spencer's hair, "I'd like it if you stayed."

"I'd really like it too, actually," he blushed, then worried his lip between his teeth as he thought about something else that had been nagging him. Something Dr. Martin had said to him in their session...

.

" _I would also recommend that you find someone else you feel comfortable talking with other than myself. Doing so might help you work through certain feelings you may have concerning what you went through. There are a plethora of emotions that can manifest themselves after trauma...fear, shame, guilt. You need to let those feelings out or they could very easily become a problem."_

.

"I think I need to tell you something."

"What is it?" Aaron asked, worry filling his eyes,"I hope you know you can tell me anything."

"Do you promise?"

"Of course, baby."

"Okay," he sighed, steeling his nerves before diving in, "When, ah...wh-when Parker, um..." He felt his heart start to pound anxiously against his rib cage, the swoosh of blood flow roaring loud in his ears as a sudden wave of nausea turned his stomach. He was extremely nervous, and part of him had no idea why he was even contemplating telling Aaron what he was about to. He needed to get it out, though. He wanted to stop holding onto the shame and guilt he felt over what he'd done; and he didn't want to continue keeping things from the man he loved, so he took a deep breath and tried to start again, "When Parker...ah, r-raped me...when he raped me...he um, he made me...y-you know..."

"What?" Aaron gently coaxed, an arm moving down to circle his waist, pulling him in closer, "Tell me what he did, Spencer."

"He, he f-forced me to—to um..." his eyes stung, and the words stuck in his throat like they were trying to gag him into silence, "He forced me to...ejaculate. He—He made me have an orgasm...and, and he made me...he made me... _like_ it."

His voice was nothing but a whisper, hoarse and tight.

"Spencer," Hotch cupped Reid's chin, tilting his head up until their eyes met, his expression calm yet filled with sorrow, "That was in no way your fault, honey. Not even a little bit."

"But Aaron, I responded to him." He let out a pained sob, his chest heaving as tears started to burn a trail down his face, "H-He said he wouldn't stop unless I did, though. He said it wouldn't be any _fun._...and it hurt so much—I-I couldn't take it anymore! I just needed him to stop, Aaron! That's all I could think about...making it all stop..." His face crumpled as he clutched desperately to Aaron's shirt, now wet with tears, "God...I just wanted the pain to end, so I—I gave in to him. I let myself feel the p-pleasure while he, wh-while h-he did things..."

"Shhh," Aaron murmured, "I know you didn't want that, Sweetheart; but I also know you didn't have a choice." He pulled Spencer right up against his chest, hugging him tight, rubbing soothing circles along his back as he silently wept. "You did what you had to do to get through a horrific experience, and I'm so glad for it."

"Wh-What?" he hiccuped, brows furrowing in confusion.

That's not at all how he'd expected Aaron to respond to his confession.

"I'm glad you did what you had to do," Hotch clarified, pulling away slightly to look into Reid's eyes, "Baby, listen to me...when I first stepped into that bedroom and saw you on the floor, saw the state you were in, I thought you were _dead._ I thought I was too late. I was terrified that I'd lost you, honey—that he'd taken you away from me before I'd even truly found you."

"You—You were?"

He'd never actually thought about how Aaron must have felt when he'd called him for help that day. He'd just been too lost at the time—too confused and in too much pain. All he'd known was that he'd needed the other man more than anything else in the entire world in that moment.

Aaron had been the only thing he could think about.

"Yes, Spencer, I was. I'm so grateful that you did what he said, even if you didn't want to; because giving him what he wanted may have very well saved your life."

"I—I was afraid you'd think I was filthy...or—or disgusting," he mumbled, "I didn't tell you because I didn't wanna ruin things between us. I didn't want you to leave me."

"Never, baby. You're not disgusting, and I could never think that of you," he pressed a long kiss to Reid's forehead, "And I promise, you haven't ruined anything. As long as I have any say in it, I'm never gonna leave you. I'm not going anywhere, Spencer."

"Really?"

He gave Hotch a look, examining him, trying to figure out if he was real or not. The man just seemed too good to be true.

The whole situation between them seemed so beyond anything he'd ever thought possible.

He'd been so scared to tell Aaron the truth, but now that it was out in the open, now that Aaron knew everything, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. There were no more secrets between them, and he felt like he could truly breathe again.

"Really," Aaron answered with a smile, "I want _you_ , Sweetheart. Just you, just this, just us. You don't have to be anything more for me." He bowed his head and kissed him, and Spencer let himself melt into the embrace as Aaron sweetly whispered against his lips, "I think you're stunningly beautiful, immensely fascinating, and absolutely remarkable."

"Yeah?" he blushed, a huge smile donning his face as Aaron wiped his tears away.

"Yeah," Hotch murmured, "You're perfect just the way you are."

* * *

Two days later found them back on the jet, headed home. Spencer was sitting in a seat by the window watching the clouds pass by as he leafed through the case file. He didn't know why he kept looking at it, but it worked to keep his hands busy. Everyone else was napping, save for Morgan, who'd put his earbuds in and was listening to music on his iPod.

Aaron was stretched out on the couch, snoring and totally adorable.

The case had ended well enough.

They'd saved Jo Bradbury.

Their unsub turned out to be 29 year old Nick Masters, a man whose advances had been rejected so many times by potential love interests that one day he'd just snapped and decided to start taking what he wanted instead of asking for it. He'd kept his victims alive for five days, holding them captive while forcing them to do all sorts of heinous sexual acts. Then, when he was done with them—when he'd used them up, grown tired and bored of them—he'd shoot them in the back of the head before scraping out their eyes.

He kept them as twisted trophies.

.

 _"None of those fucking sluts ever saw me, but now...well, now they won't see anything at all."_

.

Master's crazed voice echoed in his mind.

He could still see the way the man had looked at him through the one way mirror in the interrogation room. It had been unnerving, and a shiver ran down his spine at the thought.

He shook it off.

The man didn't deserve to get under his skin.

His epiphany at dinner the first night had led Garcia to Masters' sorted past, and eventually to a break in the case. He'd stayed behind while the rest of the team went to confront Nick and make the arrest, but he'd been okay with that. Although Hotch, in his worry, had pulled Garcia up on a video link before they'd left so she and Spencer could _keep each other company_. It had been a sweet gesture, albeit one he hadn't really thought he'd needed. He'd gone along with it without protest, though, because he knew it would make Aaron feel better about leaving him alone. He hadn't wanted Hotch to be distracted while confronting Masters.

Distractions were how bad things happened.

Everything had gone smoothly, though, and it'd felt amazing to know he still had what it took to do the job. That was something Parker hadn't been able to take away from him, no matter how hard the man had tried.

He heard footsteps approaching as he continued to stare out the window, and a moment later he registered the rich smell of coffee. When he turned toward it he saw Hotch sitting down next to him, two steaming cups in his hands.

"I thought you were asleep," he hummed, taking one of the offered mugs with a grateful smile.

"I was just resting my eyes."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it now?" He looked to Aaron, quirking a brow and grinning, "I heard you snoring."

"I don't snore."

"Yes," he adamantly nodded, "You really, really do."

"Well, we'll just have to agree to disagree on that."

Spencer just shook his head and chuckled, "If you say so," then took a drink of his coffee. It was the perfect blend of sugar, cream and caffeine. "Mmm, you do know exactly how I like it," he mumbled, unaware of how dirty the words sounded until they'd already left his mouth.

The way Hotch was looking at him told him the other man had caught the innuendo, but didn't respond to it.

Verbally, anyway.

The smirk he wore spoke volumes, though.

"You did good work back there," Aaron's hand landed on his knee, "Jo Bradbury is with her family right now because of you."

A small part of him beamed at the praise, and he felt himself sit up just a little straighter in his seat. They'd all done their fair share of the work, but it was still nice to hear. He only wished they could have gotten there sooner, before Masters had done anything to her at all.

Unfortunately, they hadn't been so lucky on that front. Jo Bradbury would have to deal with the aftermath of what had happened to her—what she'd been forced to endure—for the rest of her life, and that was something Spencer could relate to all too well. He knew what she was going through, to an extent.

He tried to shake those thoughts away, changing the subject, "You know, Morgan knows about us."

Hotch just gave him a nod of acknowledgment as though the news wasn't a surprise at all. "So does Rossi," he supplied, "...and Garcia."

"JJ called me out on it at the zoo last weekend," he frowned, "And Emily keeps giving me these looks..."

"Yeah," Aaron grunted, clearly amused, "I'm pretty sure everyone knows."

Reid stared at him incredulously at that. He'd had his suspicions, but it was still a bit shocking to hear. How in the world could the entire team know about them when _he_ didn't even know exactly what they were to each other? What they were doing?

"So...are we, ah, worried about that at all?" he asked.

"I don't think any of them care, honestly," Hotch surmised, "I'm pretty sure they just want us both to be happy."

Aaron was probably right. After all, Morgan and JJ had seemed okay with the idea when they'd confronted him about it.

For the most part, anyway.

"Well, Morgan said he'd kick your ass if you ever hurt me," he informed.

"Oh did he, now?"

"Mhm," Spencer mischievously nodded, smirking, "He most certainly did."

"Well, he'd have to wait his turn," Aaron murmured, voice switching from playful to serious as his hand came up to tenderly stroke the back of Reid's neck, "Because if that ever happens, Sweetheart, I'll be the first person in line."

.


	26. PG-13

Chapter Twenty-Six

PG-13

.

When the jet landed, they all piled into the waiting SUVs and headed back to the BAU to complete their reports. The mood in the bullpen was upbeat and lighthearted as they worked, and Spencer assumed it was because this case had ended so much better than the last one they'd all been on together.

It was always good to come home riding on the high of a win, after all.

He was, not surprisingly, the first one to finish his report; and he made his way up the stairs to Aaron's office, softly knocking on the slightly ajar door before popping his head in.

"Hey, Hotch. I've got my report ready."

Aaron looked up from his own stack of files and motioned for him to enter, "Come in, Reid."

He stepped inside and moved up to the desk, placing his file in the inbox while watching as Hotch sign his name to several other forms. This was the first time he'd been in Aaron's office since he'd returned to work. It felt a little odd to be there now that he was living with the man and they were _getting to know one another_ , as Aaron had put it. He wasn't entirely sure what he should do, but he did know that whatever it was, he probably needed to remain professional about it.

They were at work.

Within the walls of the BAU they were Hotch and Reid. They were colleagues.

"Ah, I'll just be back at my desk..."

"Hold on, Reid," Aaron stopped him, then stood and moved around the desk to meet him on the other side. Bringing his hand up, he gently stroked down Spencer's arm, stopping at his elbow and lingering there, voice soft, "You're probably exhausted. Are you ready to go home, Sweetheart?"

He couldn't stop the smile that stretched across his face at the question.

Or the name.

Every time Aaron called him that he couldn't help but swoon just a little. It made his heart flutter and his knees weak, but it also caught him slightly off guard.

He hadn't been expecting it.

Not here.

Maybe they didn't have to be superior and subordinate one hundred percent of the time here.

"Yeah," he nodded, "I'd like to go home, when you're ready."

Before he had time to prepare, Aaron's lips were against his, kissing him softly, and he was caught off guard once again. It was short and sweet and chaste, but it still left him light-headed, body humming with desire.

"Just give me a minute to pack up my things and we'll go," Hotch murmured, cupping Reid's cheek and brushing the pad of his thumb across his jaw before retreating back to the desk.

"Okay," he sighed, blushing as he glanced toward the window overlooking the bullpen.

Surely someone had seen their exchange, but he laughed to himself when he realized the blinds were closed.

Aaron must have shut them at some point, and he hadn't even noticed.

That meant Aaron had thought about kissing him before he'd actually done it.

The act had been premeditated.

It also meant Aaron was obviously okay with showing at least some form of affection to one another while they were at work.

It was a tantalizing idea, and one that he found quite appealing.

* * *

When they arrived home, the first thing Spencer saw was an envelope sitting on the console table by the door. It was addressed to one Dr. Spencer Reid c/o Aaron Hotchner. Jessica must have left it there when she'd picked up the mail for them. It looked much too official to be anything good, and the moment he saw it he instantly felt on edge.

His suspicions were confirmed when he opened it.

Just like he'd thought, it wasn't good news.

As he read the letter he felt his chest start to painfully constrict, making it hard to breathe. His head was dizzy, the room spinning slightly, and he had to lean against the wall to keep from stumbling over his feet. At one point he thought he heard Hotch saying something to him, but he was unable to make out any of the man's words. He could hardly hear anything, really, save for the furious pounding of his heart.

He was holding a subpoena in his hands.

A summons to appear in court.

The case, _his_ case, was going to trial, and a date had been set for three months out. He was going to have to attend the hearing, and possibly even testify in front of a jury. He'd have to relive everything that'd been done to him, again, and he'd have to tell it all to a group of strangers.

He'd have to see the photographs that had been taken of his injuries while he'd been in the hospital.

He'd have to see Parker.

A chill ran down his spine at the mere thought of having to see those cold eyes, that sickly beautiful face and that sharp grin. He shuddered as he felt the ghost of Parker's hands trace a map over his skin, following the same path they'd taken before—the same path that had done so much damage to his body, and to his mind...

.

 _He felt a hand roam down his chest, nails scraping along his skin._

 _Fingers dipped lower, underneath his boxers, then surrounded him in warmth and began to stroke—jerking him, coaxing his body into obeying the silent command to harden._

 _A spark of agonizing pleasure shot through him, and he wanted to retch._

.

 _"I want you to come for me, baby. It's no fun if you don't get off, too."_

.

 _His breath hitched as fingers trailed lazily up his body, tickling his spine, caressing the scratches along his back. The touch was soft and tender, and he ached for more of it._

 _He knew he shouldn't._

 _He didn't want those lying, deceitful hands on him; but they were so gentle now._

 _So sweet and kind._

 _Loving, maybe._

 _He knew they weren't causing him pain, and that's really all he could bring himself to care about in that moment._

 _The absence of pain._

 _It was just an illusion, of course, but he didn't care about that either._

.

He snapped out of his daze when the paper he held was suddenly snatched from his hands. Aaron was right in front of him, a grim expression on his face as he carefully examined the letter.

"It's a subpoena, Aaron," he intoned, as if Hotch needed an explanation, "There's a court date. I...I have to go."

"They sent this to you in the mail. You haven't officially been served, Spencer." Aaron looked away from the paper and back to him, speaking to him as though he were a client. Apparently this new development had tripped his lawyer mode. "You're a—" Hotch paused, wavering for a moment before continuing, reluctance heavy in his hushed voice, "You're a victim of sexual assault. They can't force you to testify if you don't feel comfortable doing so."

"Yeah, I know," he nodded, "But Hotch, that doesn't mean I don't have to go to the hearing. They can't make me take the stand, but I still have to appear in court and see him. And besides, I um..." he swallowed hard, his body buzzing with anxiety at what he was about to say. He'd given it a lot of thought, though, and he knew what he needed to do. "I—I think I _want_ to testify, Aaron. I don't want him to have the opportunity to do what he did to me to anyone else. If there's something I can do to stop that from happening then I can't just ignore it."

After seeing the impact Nick Masters' actions had on Jo Bradbury and her loved ones, he'd been more determined than ever to do everything in his power to stop his ex from inflicting any more damage to anyone else.

He could take a stand, he could fight Parker, and he could win.

"Come here."

Aaron took his hand and walked them over to the couch, then sat and pulled him down so he was straddling his lap. One hand came up to card fingers in his hair while the other curled around his waist, and he let himself relax into the touch, bowing until their foreheads rested comfortably together. His own hands came up, fingers linking behind Aaron's neck; and he closed his eyes, breathing in the calming scent that surrounded them. Lips met his and quickly parted, allowing him to slip down into the warm mouth below; and he lost himself in the sweet taste of the man beneath him.

The kiss was deep, and passionate, and very needed in that moment; and when he pulled out of it he heard a rasp of a whisper, "You're my superhero, you know." He laughed against swollen lips, then listened as Aaron added, "I'm so proud of you; and if you testify, you won't have to do it alone."

"Yeah," he smirked, "I kinda had a feeling you might say that."

* * *

The days and weeks started to kind of blend together, but that was a good thing as far as Spencer was concerned; it meant nothing catastrophic was happening, or anything life altering.

Of course, some life altering events could be good.

They didn't all have to be bad, after all.

He was just happy that his life and everything in it had evened out into what appeared to be a nice, new normal. Things weren't the way they'd been pre-Parker—that's how he thought of his life now: pre-Parker and post-Parker—but he thought that maybe they were better than they used to be.

His head felt much clearer than it had in a very long time.

The possibility of finding a new apartment always lingered in the back of his mind, but he had yet to actually take any action on the subject. He didn't really want to find a new place to stay. He felt quite at home in the Hotchner house with Aaron and Jack; they all fit so well together that he was having a hard time remembering the way he'd felt before he'd moved in with them. It'd only been two months, but it seemed like so much longer. In a way, it was like he'd always been with them... _they_ were his home now.

He'd started seeing Dr. Linda once a week like they'd agreed, at least when the team wasn't away on a case. Usually, if he missed a session he'd try to make it up when they returned, and he found that he was actually looking forward to their meetings. It was a rather surprising development, to be honest, but talking with her was definitely helping him work through some of the lingering feelings of shame and guilt he'd been holding onto.

The pair had also worked on breaking down the irrational fear he had of being stalked.

Of course, there were still moments when he struggled with it. He'd notice a red Civic somewhere and the hairs on the back of his neck would stand on end; or he'd see a tall, shaggy haired brunet walking toward him and a shiver would slink down his spine. Instead of being thrown into a flashback or completely shutting down, though, he'd close his eyes and take a deep breath, mentally repeating his new mantra: _Parker Simmons isn't following you...he's not here...you're safe...you're okay_.

 _Parker Simmons isn't following you._

 _He's not here._

 _You're safe._

 _You're okay._

That generally worked well, and the handful of times that it hadn't, Aaron had been with him and helped to calm him down.

Aaron was his light.

His beacon, showing him the way home whenever he felt lost or broken or confused.

He could talk to him about anything. They were continuing to grow closer to one another, and he found himself trusting him implicitly. He'd always trusted Hotch with his life out in the field, and even outside of the BAU, but now he trusted him with his feelings and his emotions as well. In some ways, that seemed like the harder thing to do—trusting someone with your heart, giving them that kind of power over you.

He hadn't regretted it for an instant.

He'd ended up calling Carlyle Boone, the guy he'd met at the grocery store after he'd been thrown into a flashback—ironically by Boone himself, due to his uncanny resemblance to Parker. Seeing Jo Bradbury and all the pain she was going through, along with receiving the summons to appear in court had made him want to reach out for every ounce of help he could possibly get, so he'd contacted Boone the same day they'd returned from Dallas and made arrangements to attend his next victim support meeting. It had just so happened that the next meeting had been scheduled for that night, and Aaron had dropped everything to go with him on short notice. Since then he'd gone to two more meetings by himself, and it was definitely helping him come out of his shell. He was planning on continuing to attend every two weeks.

In fact, he was doing his absolute best to surround himself with as much support as he could; and Dr. Linda, Aaron and the team, the Finding Solace group and Clean Cops were all helping him heal and cope with his lingering PTSD. He knew the symptoms would persist—that he'd never truly be rid of them, kind of like he'd never _not_ be an addict—but now he felt like he was better equipped to handle them. He felt strong enough to win all the little battles he would have to fight in the future, and with time the symptoms would become less and less.

He'd even given Spike back to Jack two weeks prior, telling him that the dinosaur had helped him through the worst of things and that he was feeling much better. Jack had taken the stuffed animal, but made sure he knew he could have him back whenever he wanted him. The gesture had warmed his heart and made him love the boy even more.

At home they still had their daily routine, and for the most part it'd remained static. A few things had changed, however, and Reid thought they were definitely for the better.

During the case in Texas he and Hotch had shared a hotel room, and a bed, so once they'd returned home it hadn't felt right to be in his room alone. He'd gotten used to feeling the warmth of Aaron's body next to him as he fell asleep, so he'd started sleeping in the man's bed every night.

Just sleeping.

The nightmares didn't come nearly as often when he was lying next to Aaron, and it made him feel safe.

They'd definitely messed around a bit over the weeks; however, they hadn't done anything too explicit. There'd been a lot of making out, some heavy petting, cuddling under the covers and several cold showers. But things had, for the most part, remained over their clothes...with the exception of a hand roaming underneath a shirt now and then because the temptation of skin on skin contact was just much too alluring.

Much too tempting.

They were hovering somewhere around a hard PG-13 rating when it came to physical intimacy, but it wasn't for Reid's lack of trying. Every time they'd let themselves get a little too carried away, though, his mind would put an abrupt halt to everything. He'd remember something Parker had done to him; or he'd smell something that wasn't really there; or, every once in a while, he'd have a flashback to the attack. Those were becoming less and less frequent, but still, it was a sure fire way to kill the mood very quickly.

Whenever he would inevitably freak out, Aaron would instantly stop whatever he'd been doing and focus all his energy and attention on calming Spencer down, making sure he was okay. And, true to his word, Hotch never once got angry or upset with him because they had to stop.

Aaron had never made him feel guilty for anything.

Throughout the weeks he'd come to the realization that everything Parker had conditioned him to feel was an absolute lie that the man had used to manipulate and control him. Their relationship had definitely not been what a loving relationship should be.

But his relationship with Hotch?

Well, that was on a whole different level. A higher level. It was a complete one-eighty from the only other thing he'd ever known, and it was absolutely sublime. He didn't have to walk on eggshells whenever he was at home. He could be himself one hundred percent of the time without fear of upsetting Aaron or being made to feel ashamed of his awkward quirks.

The man had actually said that he thought they were cute and endearing _._

Maybe one of the most important things he'd come to realize over the last few weeks, however, was that he deserved all those things in a relationship—all the things he had now. He deserved to be comfortable in his own home, to feel wanted and worthy of being loved, to be able to be himself without fear of being hurt. He was starting to believe that he was worthy of everything Aaron was giving him—the steadfast and unwavering support, the gentle touches and the caring words, the complete acceptance of who he was as a person.

He deserved it all, and he wanted to return all of that to Aaron as well.

Most of his things remained in the guest bedroom, but Hotch had encouraged him to move at least a few necessities into the master bedroom and en suite since he was spending every night there. Clothes and toiletries for the most part. Aaron had cleared out two dresser drawers for his socks, boxers and pajamas, and had opened up a space in the closet for some of his hanging clothes. He'd even plugged one of Jack's old nightlights into the wall on Spencer's side of the bed to make him more comfortable.

 _He had his own side of the bed._

That thought alone had made him a little giddy and weak in the knees.

He'd been told he could move more of his things in if he wanted to, but Aaron had also made sure he knew the guest room was still his as well. He didn't have to stay in the master. It was always his choice, and Hotch would never pressure him into anything, but he couldn't imagine _not_ wanting to stay there...in the other man's bed, with those strong arms around him.

Jack had taken to him sleeping in his father's room much better than either of them had expected. The boy was still holding on to the hope that Spencer would live with them forever, and if kissing his dad meant Reid was going to stick around then he was all for it.

That declaration had been made over breakfast one morning, and Aaron had snorted milk out of his nose immediately thereafter.

During the week they'd drive to work together, dropping Jack off at Jessica's on the way.

It turned out that the entire team _did_ know about them. Or, at least they'd known that he and Aaron were getting very close, and kissing and hand holding were heavily involved. When they'd actually came out and told them something was growing between them—that they were in a relationship—Garcia had squealed with delight, jumping up and down and clapping her sparkly hands. Her enthusiasm had been shared wholeheartedly with JJ, and the two women had made quite a scene in the middle of the bullpen.

Reid thought they were secretly planning his and Aaron's wedding behind their backs.

Rossi and Morgan, while also happy for them, hadn't acted like frazzled teenage girls about to go see a Justin Bieber concert. They'd been a bit more reserved and subdued in their reactions. Rossi had took it upon himself to impart a little fatherly advice to Spencer, which had Hotch rolling his eyes; and Morgan had glared daggers at Aaron, telling him that he'd kill him if he ever hurt Reid. After the declaration, though, he'd given them both one of his stunning grins and mumbled something about sleeping arrangements on cases as he'd walked off.

Prentiss had just chuckled and smirked at the both of them, muttering something about Hotch being Reid's daddy. He'd quirked a brow at that, but then gave it some very careful consideration as heat crept into his cheeks.

After work, they'd pick Jack up from Jessica's and go home to have dinner and spend the evening as a family.

During their story time over the weeks, he and Jack had finished reading through _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe;_ _A Wrinkle in Time;_ and _My Side of the Mountain_. He still adored their nightly reading, and they'd continued the tradition of reciting a chapter over the phone every night while he and Hotch were away on cases. It was quickly becoming a tradition that he never wanted to do without.

Currently they were working on _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_.

They'd just finished reading chapter sixteen, and as he quietly closed the door to Jack's room, he let out a long and contented sigh. It had been a very busy weekend for the three of them. Good, but tiring, and he was pretty much ready to pass out. Seeing the light on, he moved down the hall and into the office, gently knocking on the door to announce his arrival before stepping fully inside. When Hotch looked up and saw him, he smiled, whispering, "I think I'm gonna go ahead and get ready for bed."

"Are you feeling okay?" There was an edge of concern laced in Aaron's equally hushed voice.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. The Museum of Natural History yesterday and the zoo today kind of wore me out. I have no idea where Jack gets all that energy."

"And here I thought I was supposed to be the grandpa who couldn't keep up," Hotch simpered, "At least according to Prentiss."

"You're just hilarious. Really," he rolled his eyes, but gave Hotch a sleepy grin, "Night, Aaron."

"I'll join you," Aaron stood from his desk, picking up a stack of papers, "I just need to put these files away, then I'll be in."

"Okay," he smiled, heart swelling with warmth, "Hurry."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Spencer was curled up in bed, his mind already trying to drift into unconsciousness. He sighed when he felt the mattress dip and an arm circle around him, pulling him into a warm, rumbly chest. It felt like bliss, and he was content to stay right there in Aaron's arms.

That was, until soft lips and wet heat began moving along the nape of his neck, and he felt a stirring deep in his groin, spurring him into action.

He pressed back into the body behind him, groaning as Aaron rocked forward at the same time, and he sensed the man's erection hard and heavy against his backside. The hand splayed across his chest slowly ran down his abdomen, then settled over his hip, keeping him in place as Hotch continued to lazily thrust his hips. Open-mouthed kisses littered his neck and shoulder, and he arched his head back as his hand came up to card through short, raven hair.

He was breathing heavy, his body alight with pleasure and heat and want.

"Aaron..." he moaned.

A tongue licked up along his neck to the shell of his ear, teasing, "Do you like what you feel, Spencer?"

A whine seeped from the back of his throat at the seductive question, and he immediately rolled over, Hotch releasing the hold he had on him to allow the action.

"It feels nice, Aaron," he mumbled, staring into lust-blown chocolate eyes, "But I want so much more from you..."

He ran his hands through Aaron's hair again, and pulled until their lips met...licking, imploring, begging to be let in. When Hotch opened up for him his tongue darted into hot heat, deepening the kiss and pushing forward until Aaron was on his back and he was above him, straddling his hips. Rutting down, their cocks met and mingled through the fabric of their pants, sending a wave of pleasure through him, urging him on.

They fed off each other's moans as Aaron bucked up and he thrust down, over and over...bodies rocking together, hot and wet and aching for _so much more_. His hands framed Aaron's head, holding the man exactly where he wanted him as he continued to plunge deep. The kiss was sloppy, tongues playing off one another, in and out, exploring contours and tastes, fighting for dominance in the embrace.

He felt hands come up and hook around his hips, directing his movements, pulling him down to rut harder—faster. His cock weeped against Aaron's, the thin barrier separating them wet and sticky with shared arousal.

He still wanted fucking more.

He broke away from the kiss and gasped, sitting up, body shaking as he looked down on the man he so desperately wanted to make love to. Aaron was panting, hands still clutched to his sides, keeping him firmly seated, cock against cock as they stared at each other. He looked stunning and ravishing and altogether sinful lying below him.

His head was cloudy with lust and desire—the only thought running through his mind was the insatiable need to touch and feel and _take._

Take what he wanted.

He was the one in control, after all.

Eyes trailed down to the shirt Aaron wore, and he let his fingers slide underneath it, pulling the fabric up to expose a gloriously chiseled chest and abdomen. He bit his lip and met that dark gaze once more, looking for any sign that he should stop what he was doing. When he didn't receive one, he slowly lowered his head and placed a gentle, timid kiss to the soft skin around Aaron's navel before jutting his tongue into the tiny cavern for just a moment.

Swirling and tasting.

"Jesus, Spencer," Aaron gasped, arching and undulating beneath the ministrations of his mouth.

He grinned against warm flesh as he felt the hands leave his sides and tangle into his hair, gentle pressure pushing to keep him down. He was okay with that; he trusted Aaron to let him go if he signaled.

He didn't want to be let go, though.

Not at all.

He wanted to be exactly where he was, moving slowly up Aaron's body, mouthing lazy, open-mouthed kisses along salty damp skin. His tongue found a hard, pink nipple and flicked at it before wrapping his lips and teeth around the nub and sucking, biting, teasing. A rush of euphoria flooded his system as Hotch responded, bucking into him and keening wantonly as nails ran across his scalp.

He felt amazingly powerful in that moment, knowing he could make the strong, stoic, put together Aaron Hotchner fall completely to pieces with just _his_ touch, _his_ body, _his_ mouth.

Seconds later, the fingers in his hair disappeared and arms wrapped possessively around him, cradling his head an instant before he heard a low growl fill the air.

The world spun.

He yelped at the sudden movement, and the next thing his dizzy mind knew, he was lying on his back looking up into Aaron's dark, lust-filled eyes.

Hotch just stared at him for a minute, examining his face and his reaction, then smirked. "I think it's time I got a turn to play, don't you?" he murmured, bringing his lips down to brush the shell of Reid's ear, "Tell me, Spencer...do you want me to play with you?"

His body trembled at the sinful question.

Hips rocked down against him, sending sparks of pure heat straight to his cock; and he wrapped his legs around Aaron's waist, locking them together.

" _Please_ ," he moaned, arching up to meet their raging heartbeats, "Play with me, Aaron. I want you to have all of me. Just you... _only_ you...no one else."

He'd wanted this for years, and he wanted it right fucking now. He wanted to feel Aaron moving deep inside him...taking him, claiming him, making him his...he wanted it so bad he thought he might burst with the desire and anticipation of it all.

Lips crashed onto his, and he opened to take Aaron in. His hips canted up as Aaron's rocked down, the rhythmic motion bringing full, aching flesh closer and closer to release.

His head was swimming as everything grew hot and jumbled and messy, mixing together like frantic watercolors. He was unsure, or possibly unaware, of where reality stopped and his fantasies began.

Things were...hazy.

His mind blurry.

He heard Aaron's voice above him, saw his beautiful face, but noticed a flit of confusion cross his features.

Was Aaron confused?

Or worried?

"Spencer? Honey, what's wrong?"

He could hear Hotch asking him something, hear the man's soft, warm voice; but he heard another voice as well.

All too fucking familiar.

Harsh and cold and sharp...

.

" _Just lay there and be a good boy."_

.

He clenched his eyes shut, trying desperately to erase Parker's horrible, vile voice from his mind while at the same time cursing his damn eidetic memory for making everything so infuriatingly difficult. He could feel moisture seeping from the corners of his eyes, and then all movement above him ceased.

This was what always happened after they'd gone too far—after they'd gotten a little too carried away.

They always had to stop.

Because of him.

He sensed Aaron's body lift off him and settle at his side, then a thumb was gently wiping the tears from his cheeks.

"It's okay," a soft, knowing voice purred close to his ear, calm and soothing, "You're safe and you're home and everything's alright, Spencer."

Aaron was always able to ground him when he got lost in his memories. He always knew just what to do and say, and he always brought him back.

It was part of their routine now, when it needed to be.

"It's okay," he whispered, opening his eyes and giving Aaron a shaky nod as he repeated the words, "I'm safe, and I'm home, and everything's alright."

"There you go, baby," Hotch praised, smiling. He leaned down and met their foreheads, "That's perfect. You're absolutely perfect, Sweetheart."

He laughed at that.

Actually laughed out loud and unrestrained at the sheer absurdity of the statement. If anyone was perfect in this relationship it was most definitely _not_ him.

It was Aaron.

"You're the one who's perfect," he murmured, lifting his hand to cup Aaron's face, his thumb softly stroking over the man's cheek, feeling the scratch of light stubble against his skin, "You're perfect and beautiful and absolutely amazing, and so many other things. Other things I don't think I could ever put into words, because if I tried to they'd never truly do justice to my feelings. The words would always be found wanting, Aaron."

He did have a few other words he could have said, three little words in particular, but there was still a tiny part of him that was afraid to put himself completely out there—totally and utterly exposed. It's not that he didn't trust Hotch, it's just that he had a hard time believing that this thing between them was actually real and not some elaborate dream his mind had created.

He watched as Aaron's mouth curved up slightly, then wavered, and he thought he saw chocolate eyes glistening in the dim glow of the nightlight.

"Careful," Hotch warned, a hoarseness to his voice, "Or I may start to blush."

"That's alright," he smiled, "I think I've done enough blushing for a lifetime. It can be your turn now."

"Oh, is that how it works?" Aaron jovially asked, dimples out in full force, radiating joy down on him, "We're taking turns with the blushing now?"

"Mhm," he nodded, shyly biting at his lip.

In that moment, as he watched the man he loved smiling down at him, he felt more at home and at peace than he'd ever felt before. Being in Aaron's arms gave him a better high than any drug could ever hope to achieve, and he desperately wanted to give the man the same feeling in return.

He wanted to show him just how much he truly cared about him.

He wanted to shout it from the rooftops—tell anyone who would listen exactly how much he loved Aaron Hotchner.

He wanted to give his body over to him.

He delighted in the idea of opening up and taking Aaron into himself, but whenever they got too close to having sex he always ended up freaking out. Of course, he'd come to realized through many, many reassurances that he didn't have to give Aaron sex to let him know how he felt about him, but it certainly wouldn't hurt.

Besides, he _wanted_ to have sex.

He really, truly did.

Dropping his hand away from Aaron's face, he gave in to the fact that, at least for now, nothing else was going to happen between them.

"I love being in your arms," he sighed.

It was quickly becoming one of his favorite places to be, in fact, and there were many times that he wished he could just forget about the outside world altogether and stay in Aaron's arms forever.

Hotch repositioned himself, getting a little more comfortable as he pulled Reid right up next to him, chest to chest and face to face.

Spencer went willingly, leaning into the embrace before continuing with his train of thought, "I don't know if that's okay, though, to love being in your arms so much." Maybe he was still broken and that was why his mind wouldn't allow him to give his body over to someone else. After all, the last time he was intimate with someone it had been excruciatingly painful, and completely against his will. "Part of me feels like I'm damaged beyond repair," he went on, noting how Aaron looked like he wanted to protest but seemed to be forcing himself to remain quiet, "But another part of me just wants you. I wanna be with you so much, Aaron. So much that it hurts, but I don't know when I'll be able to. It's been two months. I thought by now..." he hesitated, "I just...I thought I was getting better."

"Baby, you are," Aaron quickly assured, holding him a little tighter, "You're so much better than you were. I see you making progress every single day. And no, you're not one hundred percent right now, and you may never _be_ one hundred percent, but that's okay. After what you went through, it's gonna take time for you to heal, emotionally."

"I guess I'm just afraid you're gonna get tired of waiting around for me," he tearfully confessed, "Or, if we do finally manage to have sex one day, I'm scared that it won't live up to your expectations; it'll be a disappointment. It wouldn't have been worth all the time you spent waiting for me."

"Spencer," Aaron tenderly chided, "You've got nothing to worry about, Sweetheart. I don't wanna be with you to have sex with you. That's not why I'm here. Does that make sense?"

"You...don't wanna have sex with me?"

"Well, obviously that's not at all what I mean," he countered, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly, "I most definitely _do_ want to have sex with you. Believe me." He paused, his cheeks flushing as his grin grew, "I mean, come on now...have you _seen_ you? You're fucking gorgeous, baby. You're the most beautiful man in the world to me, and I wanna take you into my arms and explore every single inch of your body...over and over until I've memorized it all."

He shuddered at the mere thought of that happening, a spark of heat igniting his core.

"And I promise you, I'm gonna do exactly that, but not a moment before you're ready," Aaron continued, "So until then, I'm in no hurry. I'll wait happily no matter how long it takes, as long as I can wait by your side."

"But what if it takes forever, Aaron?" he asked, afraid that it very well might.

"That's easy," Aaron answered without hesitation, "If it takes forever, then I'll wait forever."

"Why?"

He believed what Hotch was telling him, despite the fact that it seemed way too good to be true. He was asking the question more out of pure curiosity than anything else; and maybe because he just wanted to hear the other man say it again.

He still needed the reassurance.

"Because, Sweetheart," Aaron simply replied, "You will _always_ be worth waiting for."

.


	27. Burning

_I would highly recommend listening to Something Just Like This by The Chainsmokers & Coldplay while reading the first part of this chapter, or before. It's on the playlist for this story, and the link can be found on my profile page. Or just search for it on youtube._

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Burning

.

The next Saturday was Henry's birthday party.

They'd stopped off at a store on the way to Will and JJ's to pick out a present, and after much consideration and deliberation, Jack finally decided on Captain America and Iron Man action figures. Spencer had ordered a special volume of children's fairy tales as well, and he and Jack worked tirelessly to put the presents into gift bags in the car while Hotch drove.

Normally, Reid would have never waited until the last minute to shop for and wrap gifts, but the team had been away on a case, and they'd only gotten back the night before.

Because of that, there hadn't been a whole lot of time to prepare.

JJ had even told him on the jet that if it wasn't for Will helping with the majority of the party preparations while they were away, she would have had to postpone the festivities all together. That had his curiosity piqued, and he was looking forward to seeing what the couple had managed to pull off. Knowing the doting parents, they'd do almost anything for Henry; and as it turned out, he wasn't disappointed. In fact, when they arrived at the LaMontagne residence he was aptly floored, to say the least. Will and JJ had transformed their back yard into a scene right out of a flashy and vibrant carnival.

At least, as far as he could tell from his location inside the house.

There was a ticket booth at the back door leading outside, and Will was playing the part of the ticket master. No one gained entry to the carnival unless they bought a ticket, and money wouldn't cut it this time. The currency of the day—much to Aaron's dismay—were acts of the silly or amazing variety, such as telling a funny joke or doing a little dance. One act bought you one ticket, and there was only one ticket allowed per person—also much to Aaron's dismay. If the man wanted to go outside, he was going to have to earn it himself.

In the end, Jack had opted to sing a roaring rendition of _Hakuna Matata_ , for which Will gave him a ticket and a standing ovation. Then Reid made a quarter appear behind Will's ear to receive his own entry ticket.

When Spencer turned around to see what Hotch would do, he saw the man trying to glare his way in, and he had to stifle a laugh. That wasn't really a silly or an amazing act. It could definitely be scary at times, but this wasn't one of those times...Will seemed undeterred, much to Jack and Spencer's delight—and once again to Aaron's dismay.

Eventually, though, the older man surrendered, his shoulders slumping a little in defeat as he quietly murmured something in Will's ear that Reid couldn't quite make out.

Whatever Aaron had said to him prompted the detective to abandon his post, leaving the kitchen with a grin; and several moments later he returned, handing Hotch a Gibson acoustic guitar as he stepped back behind the ticket booth.

Aaron turned, situating the guitar strap over his shoulder and plucking at the strings with the pick as he moved toward him.

He knew Hotch played, but he'd never actually had the opportunity to hear him; so when nimble fingers began to effortlessly glide across the strings, creating a beautiful sound, he was slightly taken aback.

The man was good.

Very good.

He watched with rapt interest, and when he slowly began to recognize the song Aaron was strumming, his lips curved into a surprised and elated grin. His heart fluttered in his chest as his cheeks swirled with heat, and in that instant everything else faded away until it was just the two of them and the guitar. Tears stung his eyes as Aaron began to sing, and the sweetest, most beautiful voice he'd ever heard filled the space around them,

 _"_ _I've been reading books of old,  
The legends and the myths.  
Achilles and his gold,  
Hercules and his gifts.  
Spiderman's control,  
And Batman with his fists.  
And clearly I don't see myself upon that list."_

Hotch smiled, face lit up as he held Spencer's watery gaze; and he took a step closer, picking up the pace of the song as he started to sway to the music,

 _"_ _But he said, where'd you wanna go?  
How much you wanna risk?  
I'm not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts.  
Some superhero,  
Some fairy tale bliss.  
Just something I can turn to.  
Somebody I can kiss.  
I want something just like this."_

Reid couldn't help the tiny giggle that escaped him as he also stepped forward, wiping at his eyes and sniffling before playfully joining in, the pair singing the _'doos'_ together.

Aaron littered the chorus throughout their duet,

 _"_ _Oh, I want something just like this."_

Spencer sang a little more, and then Hotch took over, a huge smile lighting up his face as he gestured to him and joyously shouted out with abandon,

 _"_ _Oh, I want something just like this!"_

They both continued to move closer to one another until they were mere inches apart, the guitar the only thing separating them; and neither one dared pull their eyes away from the other as Hotch played and sang through the rest of the chorus with ease.

While Spencer listened, he couldn't stop tears of unbridled happiness from streaming down his face, or keep his body from moving to the beat of the music; and honestly, he didn't even wanna try. But when that velvet voice lowered, gently beginning to serenade him again, everything in him stilled and he gave all his attention back over to Aaron,

 _"_ _I've been reading books of old,  
The legends and the myths.  
The testaments they told,  
The moon and its eclipse.  
And Superman unrolls,  
A suit before he lifts.  
But I'm not the kind of person that it fits.  
He said, where'd you wanna go?  
How much you wanna risk?  
I'm not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts.  
Some superhero,  
Some fairy tale bliss.  
Just something I can turn to,  
Somebody I can miss..."_

At that, Hotch paused, letting the music fade into the still air as his hands left the guitar and came up to cradle Spencer's face, gently wiping his tears away. When he started to sing once more, his voice was low and slow and serious; and just for the two of them,

 _"_ _I want something...just...like...this..."_

He pulled Reid into a warm, soft kiss; and Spencer hummed in contentment as he closed his eyes and savored every second.

When they separated, Aaron remained close, whispering against parted lips, "I. Adore. You."

His breath hitched as more tears fell unbidden from his eyes, but they were swiftly caught and wiped away by Aaron's thumbs; then the man placed one last lingering kiss to his forehead before turning back to Will and relinquishing the guitar.

He was absolutely speechless, breathless, and awestruck with the display of affection; and he literally had to pinch the inside of his arm just to make sure he wasn't dreaming, because things like what he'd just witnessed were only supposed to happen in movies and fairy tales.

They definitely never happened to someone like him.

He wasn't dreaming, though...he was very much awake, and this was very real.

Aaron _adored_ him.

He barely registered Will's enthusiastic applause or Jack's squeals of excitement; but when Hotch wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him up against his side, he melted into the embrace, curling his own hand around Aaron's back as they walked into the yard.

"Are you alright?" Hotch quietly murmured.

"Yeah," he sighed, trying to keep his body from trembling with overwhelming emotion, "I'm perfect, Aaron. And, um...I adore you too, you know."

Hotch simply smiled and squeezed him a little tighter in silent answer.

* * *

Once they entered the yard, Spencer's senses were bombarded by bright lights, screaming children and the smell of popcorn and hot dogs wafting through the air. The atmosphere was a stark and startling contrast to the euphoric, blissed-out state he'd been in just moments before, but it was still pleasant—in its own way.

A much more jarring, loud and blusterous way.

There was a large bouncy house off to his left, and he could see little heads of hair bobbing up and down inside it, making it wobble and jiggle around with intense excitement. JJ stood at the entrance helping a blonde girl climb in through the opening.

A concession stand was to his right, with a grill set up directly behind it. Morgan was there manning the flames, flipping hot dogs and passing out bags of popcorn while Garcia dazzled a couple of children with her elaborate sno-cone making abilities. The two looked like they were having an absolute blast, and the sight made him smile.

A large, fenced area was located right in the middle of the yard; and several cute, fluffy animals were roaming within the confines. It was a petting zoo from the looks of it, and the instant Jack saw it he was gone in a blur.

He laughed as he and Aaron made their way to a table positioned along the back side of the house, placing their gifts with the rest as they admired a beautifully decorated cake. It showcased a large big top tent with several circus animals parading around it.

"Uncle Penny! Uncle Penny!"

Spencer turned around just in time to see Henry rushing straight at him, arms outstretched toward him and a huge, radiant grin on his adorably messy face. His lips and the skin around them were stained red from a sno-cone.

Probably.

He smiled and bent down, swiftly scooping the little boy up into his arms and spinning him around, gleeful squeals and laughter filling the air as tiny arms clung tightly around his neck.

"Happy birthday, Hen!" he greeted, setting him back on his feet and kneeling down, tapping his finger against his lips as though in deep concentration, "So, remind me again...how old are you now?"

"Six!"

"Oh my goodness!" he gushed, reveling in the joy beaming from his godson's face, "You're already _six years old?!"_

"Uh huh!"

"Wow...you're getting so BIG!"

"I know!" Henry quickly agreed with a wildly animated nod, "Am I big enough to help you with some magic tricks now, Uncle Penny? Please, please, please!"

"You know, I think you might just be," he chuckled, "I'd love to have you be my assistant. Just give me a few minutes to go talk to your mom first, though, okay kiddo?"

"Okay," Henry lunged forward, giving him another big hug before running back over to the petting zoo to join Jack.

He watched the two boys converge on a very docile looking Shetland pony, then turned back to Aaron, wrapping an arm around the man's middle and giving him a light kiss on the cheek, "I think I'm gonna go talk to JJ for a minute."

Something had been on his mind for a while. He'd been mulling it over for the last two weeks, actually, trying to decide if it was a good idea or not. He hadn't talked to anyone else about it, though; not even Aaron. He'd wanted to come to his own conclusion without being influenced by the concerns of others, because he was pretty sure there'd definitely be some concerns.

So that's exactly what he'd done.

He'd thought long and hard, and he'd finally come to a decision. He'd been feeling much more like his old self lately, and he wanted to make a few changes to reflect that—changes that would let everyone know he was okay...really, truly okay.

He felt like this was as good a time as any to bring it up.

"Do you want some company?" Hotch asked, a gentle hand coming up to cup his cheek.

"No, I'm okay," he assured, "Like I said earlier, Aaron, I'm perfect."

"Yes, you most certainly are."

Backing out of Aaron's hold, he gave him one last smile before heading toward the bouncy house while Hotch went to join Morgan and Garcia at the concession stand. When he stepped up next to JJ she turned and smiled brightly at him, then threw her arms out for a hug.

Like mother, like son.

"Oh! I'm so glad you guys made it!"

She jumped into his arms and squeezed his neck tight, swaying back and forth slightly as she giggled in his ear. She seemed giddy and a bit off kilter, but in a good sort of way.

A happy way.

Or, quite possibly, a drunk way...it was really hard to tell.

As she pulled back, though, her expression changed, and she gasped as she stared at him with wide eyes.

"JJ?" He frowned at her, his body immediately tensing under the gaze, "What is it?"

"Have you seen those animals?" she urgently asked, pointing toward the petting zoo; then grinned and started jumping up and down like a zealous school girl, "They're so, so, sooooo cute, Reid! You've gotta go see them! I mean, that pony? I can't even...he's _so sweet!"_

"I'll be sure to do that," he laughed, relaxing when he realized everything was okay and the world wasn't ending.

Well, everything was okay except for the fact that JJ was acting a bit...odd, or...high, for lack of a better word.

"You've been, um, hitting the sugar pretty hard today, haven't you?" he asked, one corner of his mouth curving up into a half grin.

"Well, I _was_ up most of the night preparing for this fabulous carnival birthday party," she gestured all around the back yard, "So I've kinda been mainlining coffee and pixie sticks all day."

"Not together, I hope." When she merely raised her eyebrows, shrugged a shoulder and bit guiltily at her lip he gave her a mock frown. "Oh come on," he sighed, "Please, JJ...say it isn't so..."

"Ummmm, sorry...can't." She gave him a rueful smile and playfully punched his arm, then changed the subject, "So, how are you guys doing, Reid?"

He knew she meant more than she was asking.

She wanted to know how _they_ were doing, he and Aaron, as a couple; but she wasn't coming right out and asking the question in case he didn't want to answer it. She wasn't putting him on the spot, so to speak, and he appreciated the effort.

"We're doing really well," he answered sincerely, "We're kind of great, actually."

"Yeah, I heard about the little number Hotch sang for you to get his ticket." She pulled her phone out of her pocket and held it up, showing off a picture Will must have taken while he'd been mesmerized by Aaron's voice. It was a side view of the two of them. They were standing close, the guitar between them, and he could see tears shining in his eyes as he smiled at Aaron. "There's still some guys gettin' it right," she murmured, lowering the phone, "And apparently Hotch is one of them."

"Yeah," he could feel a blush creeping across his face as he thought back to the serenade, "I think he just might be..."

What Aaron had done really was like something straight out of a fairy tale, and he wasn't exactly sure if he deserved such extravagant treatment. It made him want to do something for Hotch in return—something that would completely surprise him—but he didn't know if he could ever top what the other man had already done for him.

He realized he'd zoned out when JJ gave his arm a light pat, and he cleared his throat as he looked back to her phone.

"I don't suppose you could, ah, maybe...send that to me?" he asked, voice squeaking.

"Done," she smirked, quickly hitting a button on her cell. He heard a soft _swoosh_ emanate from her phone, followed seconds later by his own phone chiming the familiar _new text message_ alert, and he looked at her questioningly. "I kinda had a feeling you might want it," was all the explanation she provided.

"Thanks," he smiled, then took a deep breath and swallowed down the lump of anxiety trying to form in his throat, "JJ, can I, um, talk to you about something?"

Her demeanor instantly changed, growing a little less goofy and a bit more serious as she gave him her full attention, "Of course, Reid. What's up?"

"Well, I've been doing a lot of thinking over the last week or so, about what—what happened...ah, you know, with me..." He paused, trying to calm his nerves. He didn't exactly know how to say what he wanted to say, and he was trembling with anxious energy. "I _have_ been doing better, haven't I?" he asked, suddenly second guessing his decision—looking for verification that he was, in fact, better.

The thought of making it all real had him nervous.

"Absolutely," she frowned, "You're doing so well, Spencer. What's this about?"

"I—I just..." he stopped again, huffing in frustration. He could tell he was starting to worry JJ. Her eyes were darting back and forth between him and Aaron, like she wanted to call out for help, so he just bit the bullet and blurted, "I miss Spence!"

As the name rushed past his lips he could feel his body instantly tense up in anticipation, preparing for his mind to unleash holy hell on him.

But that didn't happen.

 _Nothing_ happened.

He didn't hear Parker's sick voice taunting him, or see cold blue eyes staring back at him, or smell cinnamon in the air.

His skin didn't crawl and bile didn't rise up his throat.

He'd said the name out loud and his world hadn't faded away.

Nothing catastrophic happened.

He did feel a little shaky, but otherwise he was perfectly fine.

He was taking back what was his, what Parker Simmons had stolen from him, and it kind of felt amazing.

He noticed JJ's eyes widen in response to his outburst, her mouth opening slightly, but she remained quiet.

"You know," he continued, stopping to lick his lips as he collected his thoughts, "For a long time you were the only person in the world who called me Spence, and I'd just really like to be him again."

"Are—Are you sure?" she gasped, her hands coming up to comb through her hair, shaking it out.

He breathed a sigh of relief and nodded his head in answer, his whole body relaxing now that the declaration was actually out in the open. Then he watched as JJ wiped a tear from her eye and threw her arms around his neck again, pulling him into another warm hug.

"Oh, I'm so proud of you, Reid—" she stopped herself, paused, and happily corrected, " _Spence._ "

He could hear the smile in her voice, and he returned the embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

"Say it again?" he whispered into her hair.

"Spence." She pulled back and beamed up at him, her smile bright and sparkling as she laughed, "Spence! Spence, Spence, Spence!"

"Uh...Kid?"

They both turned abruptly to see Morgan and Hotch walking toward them, a bewildered look on Derek's face as he pointed toward JJ, "Did you break her or somethin'?"

"No, Morgan," she chuckled, " _Spence_ is back!"

Aaron visibly flinched at that, dark brown eyes snapping automatically to him. "Reid," he questioned, worry filling his voice, "What's this about?"

"I-It's okay, really. I promise." He moved to stand in front of Hotch, capturing both the man's hands in his as his gaze met those concerned eyes. "I've been doing really well lately," he assured, rubbing his thumbs across the back of Aaron's hands, "I'm in therapy, and I'm going to meetings, and I'm feeling like my old self again, but... _better._ I don't want him to have any part of me anymore, Aaron."

Hotch pulled out of his hold and brought both hands up to cradle his face, examining him intensely. "Are you sure?" he softly murmured, gently caressing his jaw, "Are you sure you're really okay with that?"

"Yes," he smiled, covering Aaron's hands with his own, "I'm taking Spence back from him...and, um," he glanced toward Morgan, "I wanna take Pretty Boy back, too."

Again, the only thing he felt when he said the name out loud was relief, and his heart swelled at the joy that flitted across Morgan's face.

"You sure, Kid?"

"Completely."

"Well, alright," Derek gave him a dazzling grin and clasped him firmly on the shoulder, "You hear that? Pretty Boy's back in da house!"

He laughed, shaking his head; and the rest of them quickly joined in.

After a few minutes, though, the reverie quieted down and an arm circled around him, pulling his back against a warm chest. He leaned further into the embrace as hot breath ghosted over his neck and his ear, Aaron's voice soothing him, "I'm so proud of you, Sweetheart."

"Yeah?" he blushed, then shyly admitted, "I guess I'm a little proud of myself, too."

It seemed that suddenly they had even more to celebrate, and celebrate is exactly what they did.

Reid went on to amaze the kids with some of his magic tricks while Henry excitedly assisted him, and Prentiss and Rossi arrived fashionably late.

They all ate way too much junk food, then decided to jump in the bouncy house even though they were technically much too big to do so.

At one point Emily made a mad dash for the bathroom, her stomach revolting against all the abuse she'd put it through.

They sang _Happy Birthday_ , and Henry made a wish before he blew out the candles.

Presents were opened and cake was eaten.

When time permitted, Spencer and Aaron stole a few moments here and there to share a tender kiss or a whispered endearment. They were playfully called out on their PDA by almost every member of the team at one point or another; and Jack had come to their rescue several times, shooing the others away.

And at the end of the night, the three of them—Hotch, Reid and Jack—went home as a family. Jack fell asleep in the back seat on the way, and Spencer carried him inside, forgoing story time to simply tuck him into bed instead.

As he stepped out of the boy's room, he realized that this was his new normal, and he couldn't be happier.

He was loving every single minute of it.

* * *

Aaron woke up Monday morning to the piercing sound of his alarm blaring loudly in his ears. He refused to open his eyes to it, though, choosing instead to awkwardly feel around on the bedside table until his fingers landed on his phone. Picking it up, he fumbled to turn off the incessant noise, hitting snooze before immediately rolling back over to pull Spencer into his arms.

It was one of their new routines, and one he'd grown quite fond of and accustomed to over the last several weeks.

It usually went something like this: he'd reach out for the younger man, who'd slowly begin to rouse at the feel of his touch. Without a word, Spencer would then roll over and nuzzle into his chest, and he'd wrap his arm around Reid's back to hold him close. Then they'd stay just like that for the next ten minutes, his fingers combing through silky smooth hair as they breathed each other in, bodies pressed together under the covers.

It was their _snooze time_ , and it was quickly becoming one of his favorite parts of the day. It sort of felt like their calm before the storm—their solace before they had to go back out into the real world—and he cherished every single second of those ten precious minutes.

He cherished them because he knew from firsthand experience that a seemingly ordinary day could rapidly and unexpectedly turn into something else entirely.

Something catastrophic.

Something life shattering.

Something unthinkable.

Today was different, though.

Unusual.

It didn't fit the routine.

Today, when he reached out toward Reid to wake him the air around the younger man radiated heat like a furnace; and when his hand made contact with a slim shoulder, he knew something was very wrong.

Spencer wasn't responding.

He wasn't reacting to Aaron's touch at all.

Instantly, his brain kicked into high alert and he sat up, twisting to flip the bedside lamp on before turning back to look at Reid.

Spencer was lying quietly on his side, back facing Aaron as a slight tremor coursed through his body. Otherwise, though, he remained unresponsive to the sudden flood of light that illuminated the room.

That was another indication that something wasn't right.

As he moved to Reid's side of the bed, he positioned himself over the younger man to examine him closer. What he saw made his chest clench and his stomach knot up with uneasiness.

Spencer was an absolute mess. He was panting heavily, body trembling, face pale yet flushed and clammy. A thin sheen of sweat covered his skin, glistening; and his hair was damp, tangled and plastered to his forehead. He was clearly unwell, and when Aaron brought his hand up to feel a pale cheek he almost flinched away from the immense heat that greeted him. Spencer was burning up, and the sheets beneath him were soaked.

He needed to wake him.

"Spencer," he softly murmured, keeping his voice as calm as possible. Carefully, he rolled Reid onto his back and brushed the hair out of his face, giving the feverish cheek a gentle tap, "Baby, wake up."

Spencer's face scrunched in discomfort at the request, and he tried to turn away; dry, pink lips parting as a tiny whimper escaped his throat.

"That's it," he continued to coax, thankful for any kind of reaction, "Come on, now. I need you to open your eyes and look at me, Spencer."

He watched anxiously as long, full lashes began to flutter; then glassy hazel eyes opened, and Reid looked up at him, clearly confused.

"A-Aaron?" Spencer rasped, blinking furiously, "What's—What's going on?"

"Sweetheart, you're burning up."

"Am I?" Spencer gave him another look that made him think the younger man wasn't altogether coherent; then he tried to sit up, hissing with the attempt before promptly falling back down to the pillow. "I—" his breath hitched, and he let out a groan, "God, Aaron...I feel like I've been hit by a truck..."

"You really don't look much better," Hotch murmured, unable to keep the worry out of his voice. He was concerned this could be a complication from the attack. When they'd been in the ER, Dr. Cameron had instructed them to come back if Reid developed a fever. "Maybe I should take you to the hospital, Spencer. The doctor said if you got sick she'd need to see you right away. This could be a complication."

Reid gave him a small, knowing smile, his hazy eyes clearing somewhat. "That was over two months ago, Aaron. It's not related to the..." he let his voice fade as his gaze dropped to the blankets covering him, "It, it doesn't have anything to do with that _._ Physically, I'm completely healed. This is probably just something I picked up from the party on Saturday. I mean, think about it...all those kids...all those germs floating around everywhere," he frowned, looking back to Aaron, "The place was an absolute cesspool of bacteria and viruses..."

He couldn't help but laugh at that. If Spencer had been worried about germs at Henry's birthday party he hadn't let it show; he'd been nothing but the epitome of the doting uncle...or godfather, as it were.

"I've probably just got a cold or the flu. It's that time of the year," his voice grew weaker as he tried to continue, "Symptoms can manifest anywhere from, um, twenty-four hours to, to four days after the initial exposure—" He stopped when his voice broke, a coughing fit stealing his breath as it rocked through his body. When he continued, he sounded markedly winded, which did nothing to calm Aaron's nerves, "That fits with the timeline. I'm, um, s-sure I'll be okay...in a day or two."

"Alright, Dr. Reid," he simpered, slightly relieved by the lucid answer. At least Spencer was with it enough to still be Reid-like...self-diagnosis and all. "You're obviously in no condition to go anywhere today, though. You're staying home," he instructed, sensing Spencer begin to shiver under his touch. The man gave him no protest, which he was thankful for. "Sweetheart, we need to get you off those wet sheets." Reid appeared confused again at that, and it was a very troubling look on him from Aaron's perspective. "You've been sweating," he quickly tried to explain, "You soaked through the sheets." He backed away, rolling out of bed and straightening the linens and blankets on his side, "Do you think you can scoot over here?"

"Well, I should certainly hope so," Reid snorted, rolling his eyes as he slowly lifted up and began painfully inching his way toward him, "You know...I'm not an invalid, Aaron."

Hotch tried not to smirk at the retort. Apparently sick Spencer was a bit snippy and mouthy. The younger man did look like hell, though, so he decided to cut him some slack.

When Reid finally made it over to the other side of the bed, he took a deep breath and collapsed onto Aaron's pillow, panting from the exertion. Hotch knelt down on the floor next to his head, running fingers through sweaty, matted hair. The action elicited an exhausted but grateful whine from the genius that made him smile.

"Just rest here today and take it easy," he whispered, "If you're still feeling ill tomorrow I'll take off work and get you in to see a doctor. A _medical_ doctor."

"You don't have to baby me, Aaron."

"Hush. I'm not," he argued. He wanted to say _I'm not babying you, I'm simply taking care of someone I love_ , but that's not what came out. Instead, he grabbed hold of Spencer's trembling hand and kissed the back of it, then began rubbing soothing circles over the skin, "I'm taking care of someone I care about, so just shut up and deal with it."

Spencer gave him a weary grin and a small nod, then closed his eyes, letting out a tired sigh as he did so.

"I'm gonna get Jack up, and then I'll bring you some water and tylenol. We need to get your fever down."

"A slight fever is actually a good thing, you know," Reid mumbled, "It's part of the body's natural defense against infection..."

"I think what you've got is a little more than a slight fever, baby," he murmured, bending down and kissing Spencer's sweaty forehead, measuring the temperature against his lips like he'd done with Jack countless times in the past. "But I'll try to remember that for the future."

"Mhmmm...'kay..."

Reid didn't reopen his eyes, but he did roll over onto his stomach and sprawl his long limbs across the entirety of Aaron's side of the bed. His breathing quickly evened out, falling into a steady rhythm as his body relaxed into the mattress; and before Aaron realized it, Reid had already fallen back to sleep. He was still sweating quite a bit, fever raging, and the sheets would definitely need to be changed; but Hotch didn't think he had the heart to make him move any more right now. He just looked too comfortable, and kind of adorable...in a sad, sick puppy sort of a way.

Smiling, he placed one more kiss to Spencer's temple, then got up, dressed quickly and headed to Jack's bedroom.

It took a good amount of coaxing to get his son out of bed, but eventually he was successful, and he sent the boy to the bathroom to brush his teeth while he procured two tylenol and a glass of water from the kitchen. As he moved back up the stairs and down the hall toward their bedroom, Jack came out of his own room, fully dressed with his backpack in hand.

"Where's Penny?"

Reid was usually the one to get him up in the mornings, so Aaron could understand how he might be a little confused by the change in routine.

"Buddy, Penny's not feeling very well this morning."

Jack's face instantly fell at the admission, and fear clouded his eyes. "Did—Did someone hurt him again?" he asked, brows furrowing, "Like before, with that bad man?"

"Oh, no." Aaron knelt down to his son's level, meeting his gaze. He hadn't even thought about Jack interpreting Spencer not feeling well into _someone hurt Spencer_. It made perfect sense, though. It made sense because that's exactly what they'd told the boy when someone actually _had_ hurt Spencer. He brought his hands up to gently rub Jack's upper arms, trying to soothe him, "Buddy, he's okay. No one hurt him this time. He just woke up sick, but he'll be better soon."

"Do you promise he's okay, Dad?"

"Yes, Jack, I promise," he nodded, shrugging his shoulder, "It's probably just a cold or something. Pen thinks he picked it up from Henry's party."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense," Jack theorized, "There _were_ lots and lots of germs floating around all over the place."

Wow.

Okay.

Aaron couldn't hold back the snort that came out of his nose at his son's words. He'd known Jack and Spencer were spending a lot of time together, but it sounded like the genius was beginning to rub off on his son.

The idea was both amusing and heartwarming.

"Do you think he needs Spike to help him feel better?"

"You know, I think that's a great idea," Aaron smiled, "I'm sure he'd love to see Spike when he wakes up." He ruffled the boy's hair and stood, "Go ahead and go get him, then grab something quick for breakfast; something you can eat in the car. We're running a little late this morning."

Jack happily beamed up at him, then ran to his room to retrieve the dinosaur. After handing it over he jumped down the stairs, mumbling something about pop tarts being quick.

"Pop tarts..." Aaron repeated under his breath with a smile and a sigh, then headed in the opposite direction.

When he reentered the darkened master bedroom, illuminated only by the soft glow of the nightlight, he found Reid still asleep on his side of the bed. Spencer had rolled onto his back again, though, and chestnut curls messily covered his eyes.

Hotch quickly moved over to him, placing the pills and water on the table as he sat at the edge of the bed. He placed Spike next to the pillow, then gently ran his fingertips across Spencer's glistening forehead, brushing damp locks out of his face and marveling at the sight lying before him.

Even flushed and sweaty with fever, Spencer was still stunningly beautiful.

"Baby," he whispered, and Reid let out a cute little sigh, his eyes shifting under closed lids, "Sweetheart, Jack and I are about to leave, but before we go I need you to wake up long enough to take these pills for me."

"No...Don't...don't wanna..."

Reid's bottom lip shot out into a pout as he tried to roll onto his side, but Aaron stopped him with a gentle hand to his chest, keeping him in place. "Come on, Spencer," he softly reprimanded, "Don't be like that. I need you to cooperate with me right now."

Spencer emitted the most adorable whine in protest, but then slowly cracked opened heavy lids and stared up at him with dazed hazel eyes.

Aaron couldn't stop the worry that seeped into his mind at the thought of leaving Reid alone in his current condition; he just seemed a little _too_ out of it. Hopefully he'd be more himself after the medication kicked in and his fever broke.

"Do you think you can take these?" he asked, holding up the tablets. Spencer took just a little too long to nod his head in answer, which didn't help with Aaron's concerns in the slightest. He didn't like seeing the younger man so confused—it was too reminiscent of how he'd found him before, in that bedroom nine weeks ago. Trying his best to put the thought out of his mind, he cupped a hand behind Reid's head and helped him sit up just enough to take the pills with a small sip of water, then eased him back down, "There you go...perfect."

"Th-Thank you," Spencer stuttered before immediately closing his eyes again.

"I'm gonna leave the water right here next to you, and I want you to try to drink some whenever you think about it." He waited for a reply that never came, and he assumed Reid was out again. Sighing, he glanced to the bedside table, making sure Spencer's cell phone was close by. "I'll call you at lunch, Sweetheart," he murmured, stroking fingers through silky curls one last time, "To see how you're feeling."

"Hmm?" Reid raised his brows, but his eyes remained closed as his voice softly lilted, "Coffee...?"

He smirked and shook his head at the ridiculousness of the question. Only Spencer Reid could be concerned with the availability of coffee while also delirious from fever.

"I'll turn the pot on for you," he assured as he stood and moved toward the door.

"I love you, Aaron..."

His body froze, his heart leaping out of his chest when he heard Spencer's muffled reply; and he instantly turned back around to look at the man on the bed, curled up on his side now, tightly hugging a pillow.

Had he heard that right?

Had he heard Spencer actually say that he _loved_ him?

Surely not.

He'd probably just heard what he'd wanted to hear—what he'd been dying to hear for so long.

Or maybe Reid had simply been babbling incoherently. That was also a valid explanation. After all, he wasn't thinking very clearly at the moment, and he most definitely wasn't with it enough mentally to realize what he'd said.

Although...the possibility—no matter how small—that Spencer truly meant what he'd just uttered had Aaron's heart soaring and his chest swelling with a warmth he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. His lips curved up into a giddy smile that he felt a little silly for, yet he was still powerless to stop it.

Those four little words were the most beautiful, precious words he'd ever heard fall from those gorgeous lips.

Quietly, he moved back to Reid's slumbering side and knelt down, tenderly kissing the younger man's burning forehead as tears began to well in his eyes.

"I love you too, Spencer," he whispered against damp skin, letting all of his emotions pour out into the reverent declaration, "I love you, too..."

.


	28. See You Soon

_Since I can't reply privately to guest comments on this site, I'm going to reply to one here. I normally wouldn't do this, and I apologize in advance, but the comment upset me more than I'd like to admit. I struggle with some of the same insecurities as Reid does in this story, though, and I felt like it would help me to get this off my chest..._

 _So...to the guest who left this lovely review on chapter 27:_

 _" **I literally almost threw my phone and stopped reading this story entirely. The little song was COMPLETELY OUT OF CHARACTER. It was so cringeworthy instead of being cute. If this was a Glee story that would be different but not Criminal Minds. I REALLY love your story but you almost lost me with that. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don't do that again."**_

 _Do you know Thomas Gibson is actually a talented guitar player and singer? That scene was a nod to his talents—and an appreciation to the man behind Aaron Hotchner. Also, Hotch DOES have a playful side that has been seen several times on the show...and besides, this is my story and I felt like Aaron would definitely do something sweet like that for Spencer. If you don't want to read it anymore because of that one scene, then that's your deal, and more power to you; but I won't change the way I've written this story just because you threaten to stop reading it._

 _I mean, seriously...you say I almost lost you with that, but the thing is...none of this is about you._

 _I wrote this fic to help myself work through some past trauma, and to hopefully help others as well...which is exactly what it has done._

 _So, you can continue to read it or not...either way is fine by me._

 _~Ghost_

 _Okay, thank you so much for bearing with me...and now that that's done...on to the story. :)_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight

See You Soon

.

Spencer woke up slowly, and very hazily.

His head was pounding and his body ached; and he was cold, and wet, and sticky. It felt like there was a cloud surrounding him, muffling the world and muting his senses; dulling the edges of his reality. His mouth and throat were dry, his lips chapped, his chest heavy, and he was completely exhausted...which really made no sense at all since he was waking from a full night's sleep.

He should feel well rested.

After all, he didn't remember having any nightmares or trouble sleeping. He thought he'd slept quite well, actually, with Aaron close by.

He always slept well in Aaron's bed—in _their_ bed—and he put his hand out to reach for the other man; but instead of feeling the familiar warmth of Aaron's body lying next to him he felt the cold, hard surface of a table.

Or, more precisely, a nightstand.

That didn't make any sense.

It wasn't right.

He crinkled his brows and tried to crack his eyes open, the action taking a lot more effort than he'd expected it to; and the first sight to greet him when he was finally able to raise his exceptionally heavy lids was a blue and orange stegosaurus. It was sitting right next to his head, by his pillow, and it was staring at him with familiar glassy eyes.

That was also quite odd.

He hadn't slept with Spike in several weeks. He'd given the toy back to Jack because he'd no longer needed it nearby to feel secure during the night.

It's presence next to him now confused him.

His mind was still trying to reconcile why the stuffed animal was there when he glanced past it toward the bedside table; and the first thing he noticed about it was that it was on the wrong side—it should've been to his left, not his right, which also meant that _he_ was on the wrong side.

For some reason, he was on Aaron's side of the bed.

He saw a half empty glass of water sitting next to the lamp, and then his eyes focused in on the numbers displayed on the digital clock.

Did that actually say 10:45 am?

He squinted, rolling to his side and lifting onto his elbow to get a closer look; and his head instantly began to swim with the action, leaving him dizzy and slightly disoriented.

That's when his mind finally clicked into gear and he remembered what the hell was going on.

He was sick.

Aaron had woken him up earlier that morning, before he'd left for work.

Maybe...

He could vaguely recall the man telling him to stay in bed and rest. Everything else was a bit fuzzy for him, though, and he wasn't entirely sure of all the details.

He let his head fall back down to the pillow as he stared at the wide-eyed dinosaur, giving the room ample time to stop spinning. At least now he knew why Spike was with him. Jack would have most likely asked where he was when he hadn't been the one to get him up, and Aaron had probably told the boy he was sick.

Jack must have given the dinosaur back to him to help him feel better.

Just like the last time...

.

" _I hope you like staying with us. And I really hope you feel better soon, Spencer. If you want, you can keep Spike until you do. He always gives me strength when I'm scared or don't feel very good."_

.

The sentiment was strangely warming to him, in a non-feverish sort of a way, and he smiled at the thought. However, his smile morphed into more of a grimace when he suddenly realized the most probable cause for much of his discomfort.

Why his skin felt cold and clammy...sticky and itchy.

He was drenched in sweat, his shirt and pants clinging to him and his hair stiff as it plastered itself against his head.

He'd obviously had a fever, and it must have broken recently—and multiple times prior, judging by the condition of his clothes and the sheets beneath him.

Needless to say, he felt gross and dirty, and the urge to get up to take a shower was quickly becoming an overwhelming one.

So that's exactly what he did...albeit very, very slowly.

His body was achy, his head still hurt, and it took him entirely too long to drag himself into the en suite bathroom; but once he finally stepped into the tub and let the hot water rush over his skin, all the effort it took to get there had proven immensely worth it. He may have even let loose an obscenely long, low moan at the feel of his muscles relaxing under the constant beat of the water pressure—a sound that would have had him blushing horribly if Aaron had heard it.

The steam swirling in the small space helped to loosen everything up, helped to clear his mind, and he got to work washing all the sweat from his hair and body. It felt rather glorious, to be honest, and he could have spent the entire day there if it weren't for the slowly cooling temperature. For that reason alone, he reluctantly got out of the shower and toweled off, drying his hair as much as he could before wrapping the towel around his waist and moving to the sink.

Wiping the fog from the mirror, he stared at his reflection and frowned, taking careful note of the dark circles under his eyes and his pale skin.

Darker and paler than usual, anyway.

He'd definitely looked worse, though, so he tried to shrug off his appearance as he brushed his teeth, relieved himself and made his way back into the bedroom for a fresh change of clothes.

Choosing comfort over fashion, he slipped into a pair of plaid flannel drawstring pants and one of Aaron's old FBI t-shirts—the gray fabric insanely soft against his skin from countless washings. It was way too big on him, and he could have picked something of his own, but it smelled like the other man. He was feeling somewhat vulnerable being alone in the house, and Aaron's scent always brought him comfort—it made him feel safe, and he wanted to be close to him in one way or another. Since he couldn't be close to him physically, this would have to do.

He didn't really think Aaron would mind.

At least, he hoped he wouldn't.

He decided against socks since he still felt a bit feverish, then padded down to the first floor and into the kitchen on bare feet in search of coffee. When he saw the pot already turned on he smiled, setting it to brew as he reached for his favorite cup. Garcia had given it to him for his birthday one year after they'd gone to a sci-fi convention together. A T.A.R.D.I.S. sitting on a street corner adorned one side of the mug; and it disappeared whenever hot liquid was poured in, only to rematerialize on the other side, seemingly floating in space.

There was a sticky note attached to it:

.

 _Please don't drink too much coffee.  
Try some water instead, or there's juice in the fridge.  
I gave you tylenol at 7 for your fever. I want you to take another dose at 11 and 3. The bottle's out on the counter.  
I'll call you at lunch._

 _\- A_

.

"You take such good care of me, Aaron Hotchner," he mumbled, grinning as his heart fluttered in his chest.

He was still fully intent on drinking _too much coffee_ , but the thought was sweet, and it made him feel cared for. When the pot finished brewing, he poured half a cup, then proceeded to dump in copious amounts of sugar until it was full.

A splash of hazelnut creamer topped it all off.

That method usually resulted in the perfect blend, and he hummed his approval as he took his first sip of the day.

Now that he had his coffee and he'd showered, he was feeling quite a bit better, at least physically. He was clean and warm and his fever hadn't returned, probably due to the medication Aaron had given him earlier; but he still felt a little off, and he knew he should try to keep himself busy.

He needed to figure out what to do next, because familiar concerns and anxieties were starting to make themselves known...beginning to creep back in. The irrational fear that he was somehow being watched scratched at the outskirts of his mind, and he needed to quell it before it grew into something worse.

Those feelings were supposed to be gone.

He thought he'd dealt with them—put them behind him—so it was a little disheartening to have them cropping back up now.

Now that he was alone in the house.

He still didn't really care to be by himself, but he'd gotten used to it while he'd been on his forced medical leave. Once he'd gone back to work, however, he'd rarely ever been left alone. He went into the office with Aaron, then he was surrounded by the team all day, and he went back home with Aaron in the evening.

When he'd go to meetings at Clean Cops or Finding Solace he was always surrounded by people, new friends and old.

He _lived_ with Hotch and Jack. He spent his weekends with the pair; and sometimes JJ and Henry would join them as well.

He hadn't realized it, but he didn't actually know if he'd been completely alone at all in the last two months, aside from the occasional drive to a meeting now and then. He didn't mind it, really, but it was still an odd thought.

He definitely wished he wasn't alone now.

He just needed to find something to do to keep himself busy until Aaron called. Hopefully by then his anxiety would have eased up and he'd be feeling much better.

Making his way to the living room, he sat his mug down on the coffee table and looked around. He could watch some TV; although, the last time he'd watched daytime television he'd been a little mortified with the programming.

He'd vowed then and there to never make _that_ mistake again.

Maybe he could read instead. He'd been itching to dive into some Chaucer lately, and that would surely help keep his thoughts from wandering to scenarios he shouldn't be thinking about.

It was also a much safer bet than the soap operas.

With his mind made up, he went to his old room—the guest room, where he still kept most of his books—and grabbed his hard copy of _The Canterbury Tales_ off the window seat. Before heading back downstairs, he continued into the master bedroom to retrieve his cell phone so he'd have it with him when Hotch called, and that's when his eyes landed on the messy bed, sheets in disarray.

The faint echo of a memory flashed in his mind at the sight...

.

 _His scalp burned as he was dragged into the bedroom by nothing but his hair, then flung toward the mattress with little care. When he landed on his stomach he instantly tried to roll over, but a sharp knee dug into his back, pinning him down._

 _His hands fisted into the sheets as he struggled to gain any kind of leverage he could against his attacker._

" _Don't—Don't, please!" he screeched, "No no no no! I-I'm sorry! Parker, I'll do better, please! Please don't do this! Don't_ do _this!"_

 _A hand clamped down around his neck, shoving his face further into the pillow and halting his cries as warmth blanketed his back._

 _He could feel a firmness pressing against his ass; and he sobbed as an icy voice crept into his ear._

" _Don't fight me, Spence. If you fucking fight me I'll make it hurt more. Now just lay there and be a good boy." There was a dark chuckle, then Parker tauntingly added, "Or better yet baby, be a_ pretty boy _..."_

.

"It's okay..." he whispered to himself, shaking the memory away as his hands balled into tight fists, nails digging into his palms, "I'm safe, and I'm home, and everything's alright."

Slowly, he felt the tension seep out of his body, and he took several deep breaths before moving closer to the bed. Every once in a while a memory would pop up and throw him off kilter for just a moment, but he was usually able to regain his bearings rather quickly.

Thankfully, today was no different.

Once he felt able, he pulled the covers down to allow the sheets he'd soaked through during the night time to dry out; and he'd come back later to change the bedding. He grabbed his phone and turned back toward the door, but stopped in the middle of the room when a thought crossed his mind. Glancing to the walk-in closet, he stood there as he carefully contemplated the gun safe.

It was tucked securely into the corner of a shelf at the back of the space, high enough that a child couldn't reach it but still easily accessible to an adult.

Biting nervously at his lip, he mulled over the idea of getting his weapon. Perhaps it would be giving in to his fears, but the uneasiness plaguing his mind still lingered, and it grew stronger as the minutes ticked by. He didn't much care to feel that way all day, and he saw no harm in having his sidearm readily available.

Just in case.

After all, he _was_ alone in the house. Jack wasn't around, so there was no danger that the boy could get his hands on it. That last thought was what sealed the deal for him, and he quickly moved over to the safe, opening it and pulling out his revolver. He checked the cylinder and the bullets before closing the safe and exiting the room.

It was just a precaution, but knowing that he was armed—that he was prepared if the need arose—was already helping him start to relax.

When he finally arrived back in the living room, he was thoroughly drained from all the exertion. It was a little reminiscent of how he'd felt the first few days of his medical leave, if he were being totally honest. Although, this time his fatigue had nothing to do with an injury and everything to do with his illness.

Thankfully.

He placed the gun and his cell on the coffee table and gingerly sunk into the corner of the couch, Chaucer on his lap and coffee in his hand.

It was 11:30.

This would at least serve to keep him occupied until Aaron called.

Settling in, he began to slowly comb through the book, beginning with _The Knight's Tale_ and savoring every word on the page as he got lost in the story.

* * *

Spencer had just started _The Physician's Tale_ when his phone began to loudly ring, pulling him out of fourteenth century England and depositing him back into present day Virginia. It was an abrupt transition, but he couldn't help the huge smile that overtook his face at the thought of hearing Aaron's voice.

He quickly snatched his phone from the table and swiped the screen to answer, "Hello?"

" _Hey, baby."_

If possible, his smile grew even wider at the greeting, causing his cheeks to hurt.

"Hey."

" _You sound better. How are you feeling?"_ There was a tender softness in Aaron's voice that made his insides melt, _"Were you able to sleep alright after we left?"_

"Yeah, no—um, I'm feeling okay. A bit better, I guess. I got up around 10:45 and took a shower," he hesitated, running his fingers along the soft hem of the shirt he was wearing, "I hope you don't mind, but I, ah, I'm sort of...wearing one of you're old FBI shirts?"

He had no idea why he'd phrased the statement as a question, but he did know surrendering the information made him nervous. He really wasn't too worried with how Hotch would feel about him wearing his clothes, but a small part of him was still afraid to make any mistakes. He didn't want to mess up what they had—whatever wonderful thing was happening between the two of them—and when he heard a light chuckle on the other end of the line, he let out a long sigh of relief.

" _That's perfectly fine, Sweetheart,"_ Hotch assured, _"But I do kind of wish I could see you in my shirt. I very much like the thought of you wearing my clothes."_

There was a flirty lilt and a possessive quality to Aaron's words that had Spencer blushing furiously.

"Well, I can keep it on for you," he playfully replied, trying to keep his own voice steady, "You know, just so you can see it for yourself. Or..." his eyes grew wide as a tantalizing idea popped into his head, then a mischievous grin curved his lips, "I could, um, send you a text. A picture of me wearing it...if, you know, you'd like something like that..."

" _As much as I'd actually love that, honey, it's probably not a good idea,"_ Aaron simpered, _"I could see that getting us into a lot of trouble..."_

His cheeks flushed even hotter as he hummed his agreement, and he didn't think the heat had anything to do with a fever. Although the picture would be _almost_ completely innocent, the thought of sending Aaron something not quite so...something a little more risqué...had his mind racing.

" _Do you..."_ Hotch hesitated for a moment, clearing his throat before continuing, _"Um, do you remember much about this morning? Anything you did? Or said?"_

"Actually, not really," he answered truthfully, "It's all a little fuzzy for me. When I woke up it took me a while to realize what was going on. I'm sorry if I was out of it..."

" _No, it's fine."_

There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line that had him questioning just how _fine_ it really was. He couldn't help but wonder what exactly had happened that morning.

"Aaron..." his brows furrowed as a sinking sensation filled his gut, "I didn't do anything... _embarrassing_ , did I?"

" _No, not at all,"_ Aaron hastily replied, and he instantly relaxed until the man teasingly added, _"Well, not goth Emily embarrassing, anyway."_

"Oh god!" he moaned, suddenly mortified at all the possibilities that flooded his mind. There were so many options to choose from; so many ways he could have made a complete and total ass of himself. He knew he wasn't the best sick person ever, and he was petrified of what he might have done or said to Hotch. "Aaron, what did I do? You've gotta tell me. I know I tend to get a little whiny when I'm sick..."

" _Really, Spencer, you don't have anything to worry about,"_ Hotch chuckled, _"You we're just fine this morning. Well, I mean, as fine as you could be with the blazing fever you had. How is that, by the way?"_

"Oh, it broke," he absentmindedly supplied, leaning back against the couch cushions, trying to relax, "Uh, I woke up drenched in sweat, so..."

" _When Jack and I get home I'll change the sheets on the bed."_

"No, I can do it—"

" _Absolutely not. Spencer, you're sick and you need to rest. All I want you to do today is focus on getting better. Okay?"_

"Okay," he sighed, then timidly added, "I, um, I really miss you."

" _I miss you too, Sweetheart."_

His heart soared at that, and he could practically hear the smile on the other man's face.

" _Just...promise me you'll take it easy...lay down and rest. Don't try to do anything around the house."_

"I promise," he murmured.

" _I'll stop and grab dinner on the way home, too,"_ Aaron continued, _"How about that Greek place you like? Does that sound good?"_

That did sound good, actually, and his stomach growled at the thought. That's when he realized he hadn't eaten anything yet. Well, unless coffee counted, but Hotch probably wouldn't think that it did. He stood from the couch and made his way into the kitchen, searching through the pantry.

"Um, yeah, that sounds perfect actually," he answered, smiling as he triumphantly pulled out a rectangle wrapped in foil, "Especially since I'm having pop tarts for lunch."

" _For real, Reid?"_ Aaron's voice dripped with exasperation, annoyance, and a bit of concern, _"You and Jack both...you need more nutrition than that, Spencer."_

"Aaron, I'm _sick_ ," he whined, moving back to the living room and plopping down on the couch, "I should be able to eat whatever I can stomach right now, no matter what it is."

" _You really are whiny when you're sick...and quite manipulative. You know that, right?"_ There was a teasing edge to Aaron's words, and he couldn't help but snicker at it. _"I've gotta get going,"_ the man continued, _"But everyone sends you their love. They miss you and hope you feel better soon."_

"Tell them I miss them, too." He really didn't want to get off the phone, but he also didn't want Hotch to miss the opportunity to get his own lunch because they were talking. "I'll see you soon, Aaron."

" _See you soon, Sweetheart. Rest up."_

He sighed as the call disconnected, then placed his phone back on the table next to his gun. He'd decided to keep quiet and not say anything to Hotch about his nerves.

He hadn't wanted to worry the other man.

Aaron had already sounded more than a little concerned about him during their conversation as it was, and there'd been absolutely no sense in mentioning something that was purely in his head.

* * *

Spencer spent the rest of the afternoon reading and napping on the couch...but mostly just napping. He felt drained—zapped of all his energy—and the only thing his body seemed to want to do was sleep. He figured he could probably use the extra rest, so he hadn't tried to fight it; but when he woke back up, he immediately sensed his temperature beginning to rise again.

Heat burned in his cheeks and his chest, and a dull ache rolled through his body.

As he laid there, he remembered Aaron's note, realizing in his haze that he'd failed to take the eleven o'clock dose of tylenol Hotch had instructed him to.

He was sorely starting to regret that now.

Slowly, he lifted off the couch and made his way into the kitchen, removing two tablets from the bottle on the counter and swallowing them with a sip of water. Then he headed toward the downstairs bathroom to relieve himself and grab a wet washcloth for his head.

When he returned a few minutes later, he settled on the couch once more; but the moment he sat down he heard a noise coming from the entryway. It sounded like a key pushing into the deadbolt on the front door; and as it rattled and turned, his whole body coiled tight with tension, his hand automatically reaching out for his sidearm.

No one should be coming through that door.

He stood on shaky legs, moving closer to the entryway as he aimed his revolver and waited for whoever was on the other side to show themselves. He didn't really know what to expect, but when the barrier opened wide to reveal the new arrival, he almost had a heart attack.

"P-Penny?"

"Jack?!"

Instantly his aim lowered to the floor and he let out a pained gasp as he met Jack's wide, frightened eyes. The boy was standing completely still, a terrified look on his face as his hands flew high in the air.

Reid imagined his own expression probably wasn't much different; after all, he had just had a gun pointed directly at Jack's head. His stomach twisted in sickening knots as his mind took him unwillingly through every horrendous scenario that could have possibly played out.

"What are you doing here, Jack? I...I-I could have shot you!" he frantically blurted, "Why aren't you in school?!"

"S-School's out, Pen." The boy's brows furrowed as his hands slowly dropped to his sides; however, he remained frozen in the open doorway. "Um, are you okay?"

Spencer looked to the clock on the cable box, his head swimming slightly with the quick movement. It was already four o'clock, and he had no idea how it'd gotten to be so late. He must have slept longer than he'd realized. That still didn't explain what Jack was doing at the house, though.

"Why aren't you at Jessica's?"

"I, um, kinda sent Aunt Jess a text telling her I was catching the bus home." He paused, looking sheepishly to the floor as he mumbled, "I might have told her you and Dad knew about it..."

"Why on earth would you do that?" he asked, trying his best to keep his aggravation at bay.

He wasn't angry at Jack, per se, but he was definitely upset with him.

Or maybe he was upset with himself for overreacting—for pulling a fucking gun on a child.

On Aaron's child.

On his child.

Yes, _his_ child.

He didn't know when it had happened, exactly, but apparently he now thought of Jack as his son, too. He wasn't sure how Aaron would feel about that if he told him.

"I was just really worried about you," was the boy's quick reply, "I wanted to come home after school and see how you were doing. And I thought I could take care of you until Dad got home. _Please_ don't be mad at me."

That softened his resolve a little, and when Jack looked up at him with the most sincere puppy dog eyes he'd ever seen, he huffed and let his body relax a bit. That look was absolutely adorable...and effective...and it made staying upset with the boy rather difficult.

He wondered if his own puppy dog eyes had the same kind of effect. If so, it was quite the deadly weapon.

"Okay. That's fine, Jackie," he sighed, then paused and corrected, "Well, I mean, it's not _fine_. You're gonna have to call Jessica and tell her the truth, then apologize for lying to her, but we can deal with that later." Jack ran to him and wrapped his arms around his waist, giving him a vigorous hug that he quickly returned, laughing, "And I am feeling a little better, so it'd be nice to have some company. I wasn't looking forward to spending the rest of the afternoon here by myself."

"Great!" the boy pulled back and smiled up at him, "What do you wanna do?"

"The first thing I need to do is call your dad and let him know not to pick you up. Do you have homework?"

"Only a little."

"Well, go sit at the table and start working on it," he instructed, narrowing his gaze to glare at the boy when it looked like he was about to protest, "Homework before play, Jack."

"Okay..."

Jack gave him a little pout but quietly acquiesced, turning toward the dining room table with his backpack in hand. Reid was glad the stern look he gave seemed to work because he had a rather difficult time getting onto the kid.

The boy kind of reminded him of himself in a way.

"Thank you." He smiled as he watched Jack pull a chair out and settle in at the table, then he sat his gun back down on the coffee table and picked up his cell, dialing Aaron's number.

" _Hotchner."_

"Hey, Hotch."

" _Reid? Is everything alright?"_

He could practically hear the frowning scowl that was no doubt on Aaron's face at his unexpected call.

"Oh, yeah, of course," he answered, absentmindedly walking up to the living room window, "Don't worry, everything's fine. I just wanted to let you know that Jack's here."

" _He's supposed to be at Jessica's."_

"Yeah, I know. But Aaron, he said he was worried about me and wanted to make sure I was okay." He couldn't keep the happiness out of his voice at the thought of Jack caring about him that much. Admittedly, the kid had gone about things in the wrong manner, but Spencer couldn't help but think it was still a sweet gesture. "It's really okay," he smiled, shaking his head as he opened the curtains to peer out into the front yard, eyes quickly darting up and down the street, taking in the familiar surroundings, "I'm feeling better. I think I've just got a slight fever—"

His voice broke and his breath hitched, cutting him off in mid-sentence.

Aaron caught the gasp, questioning, _"Spencer, what is it?"_

He felt like he couldn't breathe.

His chest squeezed painfully tight and his heart clamored so hard against his ribs that he thought they might actually shatter from the force of the incessant beat.

He couldn't be seeing what he thought he was seeing.

It just couldn't be real.

It had never been real before, so this time was no different.

Right?

He was just imagining things. His mind was playing tricks on him again, because he was ill...or because he'd been alone all day.

It wasn't real.

" _Reid?"_

"Aaron—" his throat closed up, and he choked on the words that were trying to escape.

The phone in his hand shook from the white-knuckled grip he suddenly held it in.

He couldn't stop the tremor that shot through his body.

" _Spencer,"_ there was a slightly panicked edge to Hotch's voice then, and he could hear the rough demand for compliance in the man's tone, _"Tell me what the hell's wrong. NOW."_

"There's—Th-There's a Civic, a-at the curb," he stuttered, unable to truly believe what he was saying out loud, "It's...it's a red Civic..."

" _A Civic?"_ Aaron repeated, worry thick in his voice, _"Spencer, you've seen things like that before—"_

"I'm not seeing things..." he mumbled, cutting Hotch off as he stared at the car parked slightly down the road.

His eyes narrowed in on the details, examining them; and he knew he wasn't seeing things.

He knew that car all too well.

He knew the tiny crack in the windshield from where a rock had hit it while they were driving back from dinner one night. He knew the type of air freshener that always hung on the rear view mirror, filling the inside of the car with the sick scent of cinnamon. He knew the Mystic Books decal that sat in the lower left hand corner of the back window.

He knew the fucking license plate number, and he was looking right at it.

"No...it's there. I know it's there!" He backed away from the window, staring at the closed curtain in a shocked daze, "Aaron, I'm telling you, Parker's car is right out front, and there's no one inside."

" _Make sure the door's locked,"_ Hotch growled, _"I'm on my way."_

Instantly he spun on his heels, meeting Jack's curious gaze.

"Jackie, I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay?"

"What's wrong?" The boy jumped out of his seat and ran up to him, "What's going on, Penny?"

"Nothing," he knelt down, still holding the phone to his ear. He needed to stay calm, but he could hear Aaron frantically shuffling around on the other end. "I just need you to go to your room right now and stay there. Okay? Can you do that for me?"

"Why?" the boy whimpered, tears filling his eyes, "You're scaring me."

"I know, and I'm so sorry," he ran a shaky hand through Jack's hair and tried to keep his voice as calm and soothing as possible.

Neither one of them needed to be freaking out right now. He had to keep things under control, keep a level head in the situation, even though his body was starting to noticeably tremble. He was the adult here, and he needed to take charge.

He had to make sure Jack was safe.

That was the most important thing right now.

"Everything's gonna be just fine," he calmly assured, "But I really need you to do exactly as I say. Go up to your room, put something heavy in front of the door—as heavy and as big as you can manage—and then stay there. Don't come out under any circumstances unless you hear _me_ say it's okay. _Only_ me. Do you understand, Jack?"

The tears that had accumulated in Jack's eyes started to fall, and he gave Spencer a small nod as his chin began to quiver.

"Okay," he sighed, pulling the boy into a tight hug. "No matter what you hear, Jackie, don't open your door," he whispered, "Even if it sounds scary, okay? You're job is to stay put and stay as quiet as you can. It's _very_ important. Promise me you won't come out."

"O-Okay, I promise," Jack gave him another tiny nod, his arms squeezing tightly around Reid's neck, "I love you, Spencer."

If he wasn't completely terrified for their safety he would have beamed at those four little words. That was the first time Jack had ever said them to him, and he wanted to pick the boy up and spin him around in celebration, but he couldn't do that right now.

Right now, he had to do everything in his power to protect him.

Keep him safe.

"I love you too, Jack," he softly replied, pulling back and forcing a smile, "I love you, _so_ much."

He felt a tear roll down his own cheek as he watched Jack run up the stairs and into his room, breathing a tiny sigh of relief when he heard the boy's door slam shut.

Then Hotch was speaking to him again, voice strained, _"Do you have your gun?"_

"Y-Yeah," he rose back up, sniffling as he wiped away the moisture from his face.

Turning, he ran back to the coffee table, the sudden movement making him feel winded and dizzy. There was a faint ache behind his temples, and his body was starting to shiver.

Fuck, he didn't have time to be sick.

Not right now.

He had a job to do, just like Jack, and he needed to push through his discomfort.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up the revolver and propped the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he started toward the front door. He froze when he noticed it was still slightly ajar, terror gripping him from the inside. He must have left it open during the confusion of Jack's arrival.

A moment later he pulled himself from his thoughts, his pace quickening as he moved forward, "How did he find me?"

" _I don't know, but it's gonna be alright, Reid."_

"Aaron, if it's not..." he hesitated as he placed his hand on the knob. This wasn't the ideal way to profess his love, but it would have to do. "If it's not alright, I need you to know something. I—I need you to know that I— _Gahhh!"_

One second before the door would have clicked shut, it flew back toward him, and he gasped as the edge of it slammed directly into his face. The blow sent him crashing to the floor, his phone and gun slipping from his hands during the descent.

It felt like the loss took his salvation with it.

A sharp, pulsing pain shot through his skull as bright light invaded his vision and a loud ringing filled his ears; yet all his senses seemed muffled somehow—muted, slow, sluggish.

He felt nauseous.

As the buzzing in his head faded, he thought he heard Aaron's voice yelling for him, although it sounded much too far away. He wasn't entirely sure where it was coming from, but he took a guess and glanced toward his feet; and that's where he saw his phone lit up by the door, indicating that the call he'd been on was still connected.

Aaron was still there with him.

" _Spencer? Spencer, what happened?"_

Pain continued to course through him, and he moaned as he tried to rapidly blink away the spots now dancing in his vision—his mind attempting to make sense of what was happening around him at the same time. When he looked back up, all he could see was bright sunlight haloing a dark figure.

A person.

It was definitely a person.

Someone was there, blocking the doorway.

Moving closer.

Moving inside the house.

Shutting the door.

Locking it.

Locking him _in._

He kept his eyes fixed on the body looming above him, and as his vision and mind slowly continued to clear he could make out more of the details.

He really wished that he couldn't.

His stomach twisted itself in knots and his heart sank at the sight before him.

He wasn't imagining this.

This wasn't a flashback or paranoia or anxiety.

He wasn't having a nightmare.

He knew his mind wasn't playing tricks on him; although, for the first time he truly wished that it were.

No, this was real.

This was happening.

He didn't know how, but he found himself staring straight up into a hauntingly beautiful and devastatingly familiar face, all sharp lines and smooth edges.

Cold, crystal blue eyes bore down on him; and his stomach plummeted under the gaze.

"P-Parker?"

He whimpered, body shuddering as the name left his lips; then he winced when he heard Aaron's panicked voice flow through the tiny speaker of his phone once more.

Frantic.

" _Spencer!? Spencer, come on...I need you to talk to me!"_

"Well well well...hiya, Spence," Parker drawled, sneering down at him as the sweetest smile curved his lips, "Oh, you have absolutely no idea how much I've fucking missed you, baby..."

.


	29. Sacrifice

_Sorry about that cliffhanger..._

 _Unfortunately, things are gonna get worse before they get better. Parker is a very sick and twisted individual...and extremely unstable; but Spencer is also much stronger than he realizes._

 _So, even if things look dark for a bit—_ really _dark—please have faith and hang with me._

 _It probably goes without saying by now, but I'll do it anyway...heed all the tags/warnings and take care while reading._

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sacrifice

.

" _How did he find me?"_

"I don't know," Aaron answered, pulling his gun from his side holster and checking the magazine before snapping it back into place, "But it's gonna be alright, Reid."

He could hear Spencer moving around on the other end of the line, and he assumed the younger man was running to check the front door—making sure it was locked.

This was all going to be alright, just like he'd said. Spencer would lock the door and wait for backup; he had his gun. It was all gonna be okay.

It had to be okay.

" _Aaron, if it's not...if it's not alright, I need you to know something. I—I need you to know that I—_ Gahhh!"

An abrupt and sickening crack filled his ears, like solid wood hitting flesh and bone; then Reid let out a painfully high-pitched wail that had his insides turning to ice while his chest constricted. Something had obviously just happened—something bad—and the sound Spencer had made could only mean one thing...he was hurt.

Aaron was suffocating with the sudden and stark reality of the situation.

Seconds ago he believed everything was going to be alright, but now he was afraid _—_ no, _terrified—_ that he'd lied to himself and to Reid.

A loud clattering brought him out of his panicked stupor, and he realized he was shaking, the phone in his hands slippery from sweat.

"Spencer?" he ground out, frozen, waiting for an answer, a reply, anything to let him know the other man was okay, "Spencer, what happened?"

He didn't get one.

That's when he realized the noise he'd heard moments ago was probably caused by Reid dropping the phone.

Spencer couldn't hear him, and something about the idea of that broke him just a little...the idea that they weren't connected...that Spencer was truly alone.

He heard a low moan, followed by footsteps and the sound of a door shutting, then locking with the turn of the deadbolt. There was more shuffling, clothes rustling, then Spencer's pained voice filled his ear again; although it sounded farther away than it had before, adding fuel to the idea that Reid was no longer holding his phone.

" _P-Parker?"_

When he heard Spencer's small, fearful voice utter that awful name, icy dread instantly coiled in his chest and stole his breath; and the tiny whimper Spencer let out after was like a stab to his gut.

His eyes began to sting, and he aggressively wiped at them, stopping the tears before they could fall.

Before they could betray his own fear...his own weakness.

"Spencer!?" he yelled, all the control he was trying to cling to quickly dwindling, "Spencer, come on...I need you to talk to me!"

" _Well well well...hiya, Spence,"_ a cool, sharp voice crept into his ear, stealing his breath, _"Oh, you have absolutely no idea how much I've fucking missed you, baby..."_

Parker Simmons' words ripped his heart out and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

The man was inside his home.

With his son.

With Spencer.

Parker Simmons was alone with his _family._

It was just like George Foyet all over again, and he didn't know if he could handle it. He could feel himself shutting down, falling apart, _breaking._

A part of him longed for it.

" _Wh-What are you doing here?"_ Reid stammered, _"You—You shouldn't be here Park—"_

He flinched when he heard a loud crunch, abruptly halting Spencer's frantic pleas; and a second later the line went dead.

The silence that followed was pure agony.

"Spencer?!" he cried, the noise deafening in the quiet stillness of his office.

He gripped tightly to the phone at his ear, white-knuckled and frantic. That connection was the only lifeline he'd had to Jack and Reid, and now it was gone. His jaw clenched and unclenched as his teeth ground painfully together, and he tried his best not to snap the wretched object in two out of sheer desperation.

This couldn't be happening.

Not again.

His mind began to race through all the things he knew he should be doing in this situation, but his body wasn't allowing any of it. Instead, it remained fixed in place, frozen, refusing to move.

Refusing to do what needed to be done to save Jack and Spencer.

He was fucking helpless again, and he couldn't seem to get past simply yelling Reid's name into the goddamn phone.

"Spencer, baby, _please!_ " he begged, heart uselessly thudding in his chest, "Sweetheart, answer me. Come on..." he paused, waiting for some kind of a reply. "Dammit, Reid, _fucking answer me!"_

Nothing but terrifying silence spoke back to him, of course. He'd known he was grasping at an impossible straw—they'd been disconnected. That thought had him quickly bringing the phone away from his ear to redial Reid's number in the off chance that maybe, just maybe, the man would pick up.

" _You've reached Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. Please leave your—"_

"FUCK!" he threw the phone onto his desk when Reid's voicemail message instantly played.

He shouldn't have expected anything else, though; that loud crunch he'd heard earlier most likely meant Spencer's cell had been destroyed.

He wondered what else would be obliterated by the end of the day, then cursed himself for letting the dark thought slip into his head. This wasn't the time for that.

He entertained the idea of calling Jack's phone, but quickly shot it down. If Jack was hiding in his room like Spencer had instructed then he didn't want to risk making too much noise and jeopardizing his son's location.

Sadly, there would be no getting in touch with either of them again until he got to the house.

That cold reality was enough of a motivator to finally shock his system into action, and his terror at the situation was rapidly replaced with a boiling, seething rage for the man currently invading his home—the man threatening his family, his heart, his entire _world_.

He reholstered his Glock, grabbed his bullet-proof vest and ran out of his office, yelling to his team as he shot down the stairs into the bullpen, "Get your vests on and get to the SUVs. NOW!"

Morgan was the first to stand from his desk, followed mere seconds later by Prentiss, both wearing confused and worried looks on their faces. A moment later Rossi popped his head out of his own office, brows drawn down in a questioning manner.

"What the hell's goin' on, Hotch?"

He stopped in front of the glass doors, turning to look at each member of his team as they stared back at him in confusion. He didn't have time to fucking explain this to them; they just needed to follow orders and do as he said. But he also knew they needed to know what was going on—needed to know what they could be walking into, what was at stake—so he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down enough to explain.

"Park—Parker Simmons," he gasped, looking back to Morgan with suddenly misty eyes. Instantly he noticed all three profilers tense up, and he forced the words he needed to say out through a sob he'd been desperately trying to hold back, "Parker Simmons is at my house. He's got Spencer. Jack...my, my family...they're in danger. Again."

That seemed to be all the information any of them needed, because the next instant they were on the move. Derek grabbed vests and Prentiss pulled her cell out to dial JJ's number as they made their way to the glass double doors, Dave ducking into his office to grab his own vest before following right behind.

"JJ, meet us in the garage, right now," Emily started, "Something's happened." There was a pause, and Prentiss looked to Hotch before murmuring, "It's Reid. Simmons...he—he went after Reid."

As soon as Emily hung up they were piling into the elevator, and JJ slipped in just before the doors closed, making record time. The blonde looked frazzled and shell-shocked as she took a vest from Morgan and began putting it on.

An eerie quiet was thick in the air as they descended, everyone following JJ's lead, donning their bullet proof vests and checking their weapons. Their collective fear was palpable in the air, just like it always was when one of their team was in danger.

This time it felt different, though; the stakes seemed higher.

This time two of their own were in harm's way, and there was no telling what could be happening to them at that very moment. There was really no way to even know if there'd be anything left to save until they got to their destination.

When the elevator dinged, they all exited and moved toward two Bureau-issued SUVs, Hotch taking one and Morgan the other.

During the ride down, Aaron had forced himself to slip into the SSA Hotchner persona completely. He couldn't afford to be anyone else right now. If he let himself be the worried father or the distraught lover it would compromise him, and he knew he'd fully break down.

He'd be no good to anyone if he let that happen.

It certainly wouldn't help Jack or Reid, and he _had_ to help them. He had to save them. Failure wasn't an option; because if he failed, he didn't know if there'd be anything left for him to hold on to.

"I want sirens all the way," Hotch commanded, his presence strong and unwavering, "Prentiss, you and JJ with me. Rossi, go with Morgan. Call for backup to meet us there."

At his order, the group split in two and loaded up, peeling out of the parking garage moments later.

As they sped toward his home, Aaron prayed with everything in him that something would be left of his family when they arrived.

* * *

"Well well well...hiya, Spence," Parker drawled, sneering down at him as the sweetest smile curved his lips, "Oh, you have absolutely no idea how much I've fucking missed you, baby..."

"Wh-What are you doing here?" he stammered, his vision still trying to clear while his mind attempted to reconcile what he was really seeing, "You—You shouldn't be here Park—"

He gasped when Parker moved closer to him, then watched helplessly as the man violently stomped his heel down on his cell phone, shattering the device and cutting off the only connection he'd had to any help.

The only connection he'd had to Aaron.

All he could do now was hope that Hotch had heard Parker's voice and put everything together—realized what was going on. He had to believe that Aaron and the rest of his team were already on their way. He just needed to focus on that thought and try to stay calm...try to keep it together long enough to get through whatever came next.

He just had to hold on.

He knew Aaron was on his way.

He really didn't want to think about what horrors Hotch could possibly walk into if they took too long to get there, though. Visions of Haley and the Reaper flitted through his mind, and he couldn't control the shiver that followed.

"Oh, I shouldn't _be_ here?" Parker mockingly asked, pulling him out of his thoughts, "And why's that, Spence? Go on, baby... _enlighten_ me. Tell me exactly why shouldn't I _be_ here."

"I—I don't..." he closed his eyes, trying to still the trembling that was running through his body.

He had plenty of reasons why Parker shouldn't be in this house with him, but none of them were things he actually wanted to say out loud to the man. He really didn't think _You shouldn't be here because you're a sociopath who raped and beat me,_ or _You shouldn't be here because you're a sadistic lunatic_ were reasons that would be taken exceptionally well.

"Is it because of the open case?" Parker paused, a glint of anger burning in his icy eyes, "Do you think it could possibly be because you had me _FUCKING ARRESTED!?"_

The violent outburst had him flinching away, turning his head to the side as his eyes slammed shut. When they reopened, they landed squarely on his revolver, sitting snug against the wall where it had evidently landed after he'd dropped it.

The weapon looked like it was so close, yet so very far away at the same damn time.

It was just out of his reach...hatefully teasing him.

"Awww, what's the matter?" Parker goaded, his tone going from rage to amusement in a blink, "Did I scare you? Are you _afraid_ of me now?"

He chose to ignore that question because he really didn't wanna think about the answer. There were much more important things to concentrate on, like getting out of this situation altogether. He had to get the gun, and to do that he needed to distract Parker. If he could keep the man talking, maybe he could make a break for the weapon before Park even knew what was happening.

It was a long shot, but sadly it was the only option he had at the moment.

It would have to do.

"H-How did you find me?" he asked, slowly beginning to inch closer to the wall.

"Oh, I've been watching you for a while now, sweetie," Parker smirked, "After I finally figured out where the fuck you were staying." There was a marked pause, and they both just kind of stared at each other...glaring. "I should've known you'd be shacked up with the boss," he muttered, "Is that what this is, Spencer? Are you _his_ dirty little whore now? His personal fucking cock slut? Tell me...do you let him stick it in you whenever...and _wherever_ he wants?"

"That's not what's going on," he argued, body still shifting toward the revolver as he tried to ignore the painful bite of Parker's hateful words.

"When I first found you, all I wanted to do was snatch you up right then and there...but you were always with _him,"_ the man continued, making no outward indication that he'd even heard Reid's protest, "You always had your big, bad, suit-clad body guard close by, didn't you? Your attack dog...your fucking knight in shining armor..."

He kept moving, inching, sliding across the entryway floor as Parker droned on.

What he was attempting to do seemed astoundingly obvious to himself, so he was wary that Parker was catching onto his plan. Maybe the man was just toying with him...pretending he didn't notice his movements. That certainly seemed like something he would do.

He needed to act soon before he lost his chance.

He glanced toward the weapon out of his periphery, trying his best to do it as stealthily as possible. He thought it looked close enough now to make a mad dash for, so he perched himself up on his elbows as he met Parker's gaze.

Definitely close enough.

If he went for it, he could reach the gun.

He could.

He knew he could.

He had to.

"Until today, that is," Parker continued with a grin, "You weren't with him today, were you lover?"

"Y-You've been watching me?" he stammered, swallowing thickly, "You've just been... _waiting?_ For what?"

"For you," he retorted, rolling his eyes, "And...for an opportunity. Hell, when he left this morning with that brat and you _didn't_ have your head stuck all the way up his ass it was like fuckin' Christmas...and that's when I knew today was gonna be our day. I would have been here a lot sooner, but I did have a few errands to run...preparations to make." Spencer cringed at the implication, and Parker's demeanor went cold and rigid, "So, aren't you gonna tell me how happy you are to see me?"

"No, Parker," Reid growled, his anger and hatred at the man boiling over, "Because I'm not happy to see you, and this isn't our _fucking_ day."

Immediately after he ground out his reply, he rolled onto his stomach and flung himself toward the revolver, frantically clutching for the grip with sweaty palms. Before he could circle his hand around it, though, fire shot through his head as nails tore into his scalp.

He cried out, his hands instantly coming up to claw at the one gripping him; but the hold was severe and unyielding, refusing to give way.

"Oh no you don't, baby..." Parker chuckled, his voice right at Reid's ear, "We wouldn't want someone to get hurt now, would we?"

He almost laughed at that.

Almost.

Then he was yanked off the floor by his hair, and he let out a pained yelp as the room spun. A second later, his back slammed viciously against the wall, and the force of the blow knocked the wind out of his lungs, halting his cry and strangling him into silence. His head swam with dizziness, his body ached and his knees felt like they were about to buckle; but the hand in his hair held steady, keeping him on his feet and holding him in place. Cold metal pressed harshly into the skin under his chin—the barrel of his own fucking gun—and he grasped at the arm that held it there, trying desperately to alleviate some of the threat and the pain.

"You're a damn genius, right? You had to know I'd find you eventually...that I could never stay away," Parker whispered, frighteningly soft and much too close to his face, "I just can't fucking get enough of you...and besides, I did tell you what would happen if someone else touched you, didn't I? What would happen if you ever tried to _leave_ me..."

His heart sank in that moment—with those words—because that's the moment he realized he was probably going to die. The way Parker was looking at him was quite terrifying; calm and collected, yet manic and livid at the same time.

It really left nothing to be questioned.

The man wanted to kill him.

Parker probably saw him calling for help after the attack as some kind of a betrayal, and he felt like he was justified in seeking revenge. Also, he was together enough mentally to have thought things through, which was a chilling idea all on its own. Parker had taken his time with this...he had a plan, he'd been patient, and he'd made _preparations._

Parker'd been watching him.

 _He'd been watching him_.

Reid thought about _that_ horrifying fact for just a minute—all those times his skin had crawled because he thought he'd felt eyes on him—he'd dismissed those feelings as symptoms of his PTSD. They weren't symptoms, though; they'd been real.

It had been real.

At least some of it.

And this was real, too. He was going to die here because this man believed he owned him.

It was sick, and perverse, and completely fucking unfair.

It was unfair because he'd never have the chance to tell Aaron how he truly felt about him now. He'd never be able to tell him that he loved him...that he'd loved him for years and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him.

He'd never get to _make_ love to him...

There were so many things Parker was taking away from him, or had already taken away. So many firsts that he'd never get the chance to experience with Aaron.

Firsts that should have been with Aaron to begin with.

Unfortunately, he'd let the man holding his own gun to his neck have so many of those—his first date, his first kiss, his first time.

It made him sick.

He loved Aaron more than anything else in the world; and hopefully Hotch would realize that after everything was over.

After the dust had settled.

Aaron was a smart man...surely he'd figure it out.

He was forced out of his thoughts by a hard body pushing against him, pinning him to the wall. There was a low growl right at his ear, hot breath ghosting over the shell.

Brutally severe yet eerily gentle at the same time.

"You destroyed my life, Spence."

"I'm—I'm sorry," he rasped, the barrel of the gun still painfully jabbing into his flesh, making it hard to swallow. His nails dug into that hand, trying to pull the weapon away just a little, just enough to give him some relief, "Parker, please—"

"Where's the kid?"

His voice broke with the question, and everything inside him tensed ten fold as his stomach clenched, trying to revolt. He looked straight ahead, eyes wide with abject terror.

No no no no.

This couldn't be happening.

This wasn't _going_ to happen.

There was absolutely no way in hell he would let Parker anywhere near Jack if he could stop it. He'd do whatever he could to keep him safe.

He didn't care what it was.

"Hm? C'mon, Spence," Parker darkly coaxed, pulling far enough away from his ear to look him in the eyes, "Don't you hold out on me now, baby. I know he's in here. I watched him come inside."

"He's—" he closed his eyes, took an all too shaky breath.

He couldn't seem to get the words out of his throat. His body quaked, and his heart thundered in his chest as he tried his best to tamp down the rising fear that was threatening to take him over.

He needed to do this.

He _could_ do this.

He _had_ to do this.

He didn't have a fucking choice!

He forced his watering eyes to meet Parker's, licked his lips and steadied his voice, "He's...he's not important. He's just a little boy, Parker, please...you don't need him. Just leave him out of this."

"Tell me why I should." Parker's mouth was right next to his then, and it startled him. He could feel hot breath on his face and smell cinnamon in the air; everything swirled around him, making him dizzy. "Give me one good reason, Spencer."

"I'll do whatever you want," he instantly answered, a sick feeling of dread spreading through him at the look Parker shot his way. It was hungry, and wild, and curious...and much too... _interested._ He wasn't about to go back on the offer, though. He couldn't. "I-I'll do anything you want," he mumbled, "Is that a good enough reason for you?"

Parker stared at him, chuckling as he pulled the gun away from his neck. "Anything?" he asked, a gleam in his eyes, "You'll do...whatever I want?"

The man gave him a brilliant smile, then brought the barrel of the revolver up to Spencer's mouth, pressing firmly against the seam, sending a shudder through him. He clamped his lips tightly shut and closed his eyes, trying not to think on the fact that if the gun went off his brain matter would be painting the wall behind him.

Aaron definitely didn't need to come home to something like that.

When the cold steel began to gently rub along his lower lip he let out an involuntary whimper that had Parker pressing up against him again.

"Careful, baby," the man warned, rocking his hips forward, moaning, "Those delicious little noises you make drive me crazy." The gun left his mouth and the hand holding it cupped his cheek, the touch deceitfully tender. He opened his eyes as Parker softly continued, "Now, about that very generous offer of yours...I hope you know I'm gonna want _so many things_ from you."

"I don't care," he quickly replied, trying desperately to ignore the raging of his heart. If he could just get Parker out of the house—get him away from Jack—then he could handle whatever happened to him after that. As long as the boy was okay it would all be worth it. Nothing else mattered to him any more...not in that moment. If he had to die to protect him—if he had to sacrifice himself to keep Jack safe—then that's exactly what he would do. There were no other options. "Let's just go. I'll go with you right now, wherever you want, I promise." He didn't want to think about what he might be consenting to, "Park, you can do whatever you want to me. I really don't care. Let's—Let's just go. Now. Please..."

"You're such a tempting little minx, aren't you? So _filthy..._ and so eager. Exactly how I like you..." Parker's eyes narrowed in on him, voice growing dark, "I'm gonna hold you to it, Spence."

"Okay."

He tried to move toward the door, to get as much distance between them and Jack as possible, but the hand still tangled in his hair remained firmly affixed to the wall, halting his attempt.

The gun found purchase against his temple and he froze, a desperate whine escaping his throat.

"Ah ah ah ah...not so fast, baby," Parker chided, "I don't wanna go just yet."

Spencer looked at him incredulously, confusion clouding his mind.

He didn't know what else the man could possibly want; he was already offering to go with him, right now, wherever he said. He would _do_ whatever Parker told him to do.

He was surrendering himself, giving in, admitting defeat; so he didn't understand what Park was playing at...what was going through the man's mind...what his end game was.

"First, I want you to show me where your boss fucks you."

Oh.

Oh god.

His brows furrowed and he shook his head as best he could while still being held against the wall, "We, we haven't done—"

There was a growl as his hair was abruptly released and the gun left his head, then Parker backed away and he suddenly had space to breathe.

Unfortunately, the reprieve didn't last.

An instant later, a spark of biting pain shot through his jaw as the weapon made harsh contact with his face; and he cried out, the impact sending him flying sidelong into the console table.

Glass shattered under the weight of his body, giving way as he crashed to the floor.

"Don't you fucking lie to me, Spence!"

"I-I-I'm not," he gasped, sprawled across a blanket of broken shards. He was seeing spots again, and a white hot pain resonated through his head as the glass bit into his skin. It was all disturbingly disorienting. "I'm—I'm not lying..."

Before he could regain his bearings, hands were back on him, much too rough, pulling him up from the floor by his shirt collar and pinning him against the wall once more.

Glass crunched under his feet as they uselessly shuffled about, trying to find purchase.

The gun pressed firmly beneath his chin, forcing his head back and baring his neck.

His hands clutched desperately to Parker's arms.

"This shirt," the man muttered, leering at it, "It's a little...big on you. Am I right?" He stopped and shot Reid a sly grin, those eyes looking him up and down. "You're wearing his clothes, aren't you?" he laughed, his tone hatefully condescending, "Awww...well, that's just fucking _adorable._ "

"I s-swear, Park, we—we haven't done anything..."

"Really?"

"Y-Yes." He nodded as best he could, "I promise, we haven't slept together."

"So..." there was an excited glint in Parker's eyes, lustful and possessive, "If he hasn't fucked you, that means you're still _mine._ "

He couldn't stop his grimace at that, or the whimper that escaped him when Parker rocked his hips forward again, pressing his now very obvious arousal hard against him. The hand in his hair left, slinking down along his side, teasingly slow, until it reached his ass and curved around a cheek, gripping him firmly through his pants.

"I'm still the only one who's been right _here_ ," Parker whispered against trembling lips, squeezing the flesh beneath his palm a little harder; and Reid cried out at the action, his hands moving to fist in the man's shirt. "I was your first...I'm _still_ your only..." there was another thrust of Parker's hips, and Spencer couldn't hold back his sob at the sensation, "And I'm gonna make _damn_ sure I'm your last, Spence."

A hot mouth crashed onto his, teeth and tongue forcing their way inside, and he had no choice but to relent under the assault. The man was everywhere—on him, inside him, surrounding him—and he tried to escape into his mind.

Maybe if he just went away for a little while, when he came back it would all be over. Sadly, though, that strategy proved about as useful as it ever had; which was to say, it didn't fucking work at all. He couldn't ignore the bite of the revolver still painfully pushing up into his jaw, the pounding of his head, or those dangerous fingers exploring his body.

He felt the hand clutching his ass shift, snaking around his hip and descending slowly down his abdomen until it reached his groin, palming him as tongue and teeth began to move along his neck. Fingers rubbed and massaged through soft flannel, and he could feel his body trying to respond to the heated touch.

"No no no no..." he murmured, tears streaming down his face, "Please...no...I—I don't want this...I don't..."

"Shhh..." Parker softly cooed, breath hot against his skin, "Relax, baby. I'm gonna have you no matter what, but you know I can make it feel good...it doesn't have to hurt. You like it when I make you feel good, isn't that right lover?"

He felt bile rising to the back of his throat as sickening memories attacked him...

.

" _I want you to come for me, baby," Parker hissed in his ear, then reached down between his body and the bed. A hand circled around his cock and began to stroke. "It's no fun if you don't get off, too," he growled, thrusting in deep, "And I'll just keep fucking you until you do..."_

 _That thought alone was enough to have him weeping uncontrollably._

 _He was so tired, and he was in so much pain, and he was so fucking weak. He didn't think he could handle anything else Parker might do to him. All he wanted now was for everything to be over. He just wanted it all to stop._

 _He wasn't entirely sure that he didn't want_ everything _to stop._

 _So, in an effort to bring an end to all the torment and pain, he let his body feel what Parker was doing to him. He gave up and gave in, and he felt himself begin to respond to the man's sickening touch, heat pooling low in his groin in answer to the vile coaxing. He was getting hard, and he sobbed out his anguish as his hips rocked forward into Parker's hand._

" _Oh oh oh...there you go," Parker chuckled, "That's it...that's my good boy." The man's chest was hot along Reid's back as he picked up his pace, fucking into Spencer's battered body while jerking him off in time, "Damn...you really are nothing but my dirty little whore, aren't you?"_

" _No..." he cried, continuing to thrust into the hand around him._

 _Hating himself for it._

" _No?" Parker growled, "You think anyone's ever gonna want you now? Please...just look at yourself...fucking my hand like that. You're nothing, baby. Nothing but my filthy little play thing..." There was a pause, and he trembled as that icy voice grew sickly sweet, "No one wants you...except me. Face it, Spence, I_ own _you. Every...single...inch of you..."_

.

His head jerked to the side and his body shuddered through a coughing fit, convulsing as he tried to shake the repulsive memory away. He didn't realize he was violently crying until he'd stopped trying to retch.

That was the first full blown flashback he'd had in weeks, and it was still an amazingly unpleasant experience. But then again, so was his entire reality at the present moment.

"Tell you what," a voice whispered hotly in his ear, "I'll leave the little brat alone...if you cooperate with me."

"Anything," he rasped, "Please, I'll—I'll do anything..."

"Then show me where Aaron's bedroom is."

He slowly straightened back up and met Parker's gaze. Then his gun was swiftly shoved into his cheek, knocking his head back into the wall, and the only thing he could think to do was comply with Parker's wishes.

The idea had his insides twisting.

He didn't want to go to Aaron's bedroom.

He didn't want to stay in this _house._

This wasn't just about holding on until Hotch got there anymore...it was about getting out.

He wanted Parker to take him as far away from here as humanly possible—put as much space and distance between them and Jack as he could.

Apparently, though, other things were going to have to happen first.

"Do you wanna know what we're gonna do when we get there, Spence?" Parker crooned, trailing the gun down Reid's neck and over his bobbing Adam's apple. When Spencer remained quiet, he punched the wall next to his head, "FUCKING _ANSWER_ ME!"

"Wh-What?!" he stuttered, flinching at the outburst, "Wh-What are you gonna do?"

He really didn't want to know the answer.

"I'm gonna fuck you in his bed, baby."

His breath hitched at the declaration, and he started to shake.

He really, really didn't want to know.

"We're gonna make damn sure he knows exactly what we did together, too," Parker smirked, bringing the gun down to teasingly dip under the waistband of Spencer's pants, "You see...you're gonna leave a little something special behind just for him; something that'll show him exactly how much you _enjoyed_ it. Then, after we're done, you're gonna come away with me. _Willingly._ "

He was gonna be sick.

He closed his eyes and choked down more bile, his body spasming in its effort. He couldn't think about Aaron walking in on something like that; it was just too much to bear. But still...he supposed it wouldn't be nearly as bad as Aaron walking in on him and Jack lying dead on the floor.

Just like Haley.

He didn't know if Hotch would even be able to recover from something like that, so he gave Parker a small nod and forced out a whisper, "O-Okay."

"Yeah?" the man grinned and cocked his head, "You gonna behave for me, lover?"

"Yes, I'll...I'll do whatever you say."

"Perfect," Parker moaned, bringing a hand up to gently caress Spencer's cheek, "Now...there's my good boy..."

* * *

Two black SUVs sped down the highway at breakneck speed as sirens blared overhead. Inside, the passengers and the atmosphere were somber at best.

" _Parker Simmons has kinda been off the grid since he was released on bail eight weeks ago."_ Garcia's voice flowed smoothly through the speakers of both SUVs. They were all connected via a conference call the tech analyst had set up. _"His bookstore, Mystic Books, has even been closed for some kind of 'family emergency' since he was arrested."_

"That's a long time to not be making any kind of an income," JJ interjected.

" _Well..."_ there was a pause, and clicking of nails on a keyboard, _"Judging by his family's bank accounts, it seems like Parker Simmons was pretty well off before all this started. Their all kinda loaded, to be honest."_

" _Do we have any idea how he found out where Reid was staying?"_ Rossi asked from the other vehicle.

" _I don't know,"_ Penelope sighed, her voice tired and strained, _"If I had access to a laptop or tablet of his I could dig into his search history and emails, but without it I've got zilch."_

"Maybe he followed Reid from Quantico when you two left one evening," Prentiss theorized.

"I don't remember seeing anyone suspicious following us," Aaron looked over to her in the passenger's seat, his hands gripping tight to the steering wheel as he answered, "And Spencer...well, he would have definitely picked up on his car. He was always so alert...always looking for anything out of the ordinary..."

" _Yeah,"_ Morgan chimed in, huffing, _"The kid was jumpy...thought he saw the damn thing several times."_

"Simmons could have been in a different car?" JJ offered.

"Maybe—god...every time he told me he thought he was being watched I dismissed it," he muttered, slamming his palm against the steering wheel as he let out a self-deprecating laugh, "Every damn time. I just thought it was his fucking mental state!"

"It still very well could have been," JJ tried to comfort, her hand reaching up from the back seat to rest on his shoulder, "Remember, he thought he was being watched before Simmons was even released."

" _Or,"_ Rossi concluded, _"He really was being stalked, at least part of the time."_

" _Oh my god, you guys,"_ Garcia sounded like she was about to cry, _"Please, just hurry and get to him. Save our boy wonder."_

" _We are, Mama. I promise."_

Just then, Aaron's cell phone rang and he instantly hit the answer button without looking at the caller ID. The action disconnected Garcia from the SUV he, Prentiss, and JJ were in.

"Hotchner."

" _D-Dad?"_

"Jack?" He almost swerved off the side of the road at the sound of his son's terrified voice filling the speakers of the car. In the back seat, JJ stifled a gasp and brought her hand up to cover her mouth. He tried to keep his own voice calm and steady as he spoke, "Buddy, where are you right now?"

" _I'm—I'm in my room. Penny, he t-told me to come in here and stay here. He—He told me, um...he told me not go back outside."_

"I know, buddy, I know he did. You did really well, doing what he said, okay? But now I need you to stay in there." A tiny little piece of his fear diminished with the knowledge that Simmons hadn't gotten to Jack—that his son had done what Spencer told him—and at least for the time being he was safe. "Don't you leave that room, Jack. Do you understand me?"

" _Yeah, Dad, I understand. But, but there's a lot of yelling and screaming down stairs. I can hear it."_

Jack's tiny sob filled the cabin of the SUV, and JJ closed her eyes as a tear rolled down her cheek. Emily looked over to him, concern and worry written all over her usually calm face. He felt his own eyes begin to sting at the sound, vision blurring so much he had to blink the moisture away. But when he heard Jack's next word he let go and let out a pained gasp of his own.

" _D-Daddy?"_ the boy's voice broke and he started to loudly cry into the phone, _"I—I think Penny's hurt. There's a lot of noise, and th-things breaking. I wanna help him but I don't know what to do!"_

"It's gonna be okay, buddy." Aaron's breath hitched, and he quickly realized that he didn't know if he was telling Jack the truth or lying to him. He really didn't know if it was gonna be okay. He didn't know if _anything_ was ever gonna be okay again. "I'm on my way to you right now."

He was clutching onto the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white, but it was the only way for him to remain grounded in the present moment. Otherwise, he was afraid his mind was going to slip away and take him to someplace better—someplace where Jack and Spencer weren't going through hell while he had to fucking listen to it on the goddamn phone.

The only time Jack ever called him Daddy anymore was when he was extremely scared. His son was terrified and alone and all he wanted to do was get to him, but he was shaking so fucking much that he didn't even know if he could continue to drive; although he also refused to pull over and switch seats with anyone.

They couldn't afford to waste a second.

Spencer might not have that long, and Simmons could barge into Jack's room at any minute.

God, he couldn't do this again!

He couldn't sit there, fucking _helpless_ , and listen on some phone as the people he loved more than anything else in the world were murdered!

He couldn't hear them _die._

He just couldn't.

He'd already done that.

He heard JJ in the back seat softly calling for an ambulance to meet them at his house; and for some reason, that fact—the fact that first responders were being sent to his home—was making this even more devastatingly real for him.

" _Daddy?"_

"I'm here," he quickly reassured, "I'm still here. It's gonna be okay." Tears filled his eyes and streamed unbidden down his face, his words mimicking the action as they fell from his lips, "You just need to keep doing exactly what Penny told you to do. That's the best way you can help him right now, alright?"

" _Y-Yeah..."_

"I mean it, Jack!" He could hear the hesitance in the boy's answer; could hear the desire to run out of the safety of his room and go to Reid. He couldn't allow that, though; and it was killing him to say the words out loud, but he had to continue doing what Spencer had started. He had to keep his son safe at any and all costs, no matter what they were. "Jack, no matter what you hear...no matter how scary it sounds, do not open your door. Even if you hear Pen—if, if you hear P-Penny—" he had to stop and swallow down the lump of pure dread filling his throat, trying to claw its way out, "Even if it sounds like Penny's hurt, Jack, DO NOT leave your room. You stay right there unless he tells you it's safe."

" _But, Daddy,"_ Jack wailed, _"I think Spencer's really,_ really _hurt!"_

"I'm coming," his voice cracked, face cold and wet from tears he'd completely stopped trying to hold in. His heart ached, and his chest constricted painfully around it. He thought he might be dying. It certainly hurt enough for him to think he was dying. "I'm—" he shuddered, took a deep breath, tried again, "I'm gonna help him, buddy. I promise."

" _Please hurry! I'm so scared..."_ Jack gasped, and his voice abruptly lowered to a whisper, _"Dad...it, it just got really quiet."_

"What? You—You can't hear Spencer anymore?"

The unadulterated panic in his voice was palpable to everyone in the car, and it sent an icy current through the air.

" _N-No. I can't hear anything,"_ Jack mumbled, keeping his voice down, _"It was so loud, and there was so much screaming, but now there's nothing."_

He was terrified that they'd just ran out of time—that they were already too late and Spencer was beyond his help. He didn't think he'd be able to go through this again. He knew all too well what horrors could be waiting for him when he walked through his front door, and his heart sank as a deep sorrow filled his chest.

Spencer might very well be dead already.

But Jack wasn't.

For that reason, and that reason only, he would fucking pull himself together.

He couldn't break down. Not yet. Not when there was still something left to save.

He had to keep functioning.

Had to keep fighting.

Had to do whatever he needed to do.

And because of that, he took a deep and shuddering breath, wiped his face, set his jaw, and slipped back into SSA Hotchner to get the job done.

"I'm on my way," he ground out, "Just hold on, Jack. I'm on my way and everything's gonna be fine."

" _O-Okay,"_ the boy hiccuped, _"I love you, Dad."_

"I..." his voice quavered and his heart ached, "I love you too, buddy. I love you so much. Just hold on for me..."

.


	30. Good Boy

_Things get pretty rocky and very dark ahead, so please take note of all the warnings once again and read with **extreme** caution._

 _Consolation? I think this is the chapter everyone's been waiting for. ;)_

* * *

Chapter Thirty

Good Boy

.

Reid slowly moved down the hallway, the barrel of his own gun jammed painfully into the base of his skull. He had to hold onto the wall for support along the way or else he feared he'd fall; he wasn't very steady on his feet. He'd just barely made it up the stairs as it was; and that, unfortunately, was only with Parker's help. The man had stopped him from taking a nasty tumble, then he'd practically dragged him the rest of the way.

He assumed it wasn't out of any sort of actual concern for his well being.

He was dizzy, his jaw ached, and he could feel his fever returning even after he'd taken the tylenol. It was really one of the worst possible times for something like that to happen, and he seriously doubted Parker would allow him to take anything else to try and alleviate it if he knew.

Especially if he knew.

The man would probably do everything he could to _keep_ him sick.

Keep him weak and vulnerable—just how he liked him.

No, being ill in this situation definitely wasn't _good,_ and it didn't bode well.

His plan was solid enough, though: do whatever Parker wanted him to do.

Cooperate until Aaron got there.

Try to stall until the team arrived.

That was the best chance he had to come out of this whole ordeal relatively okay in the end. He knew from past experience, however, that things with Park could very quickly and very easily get out of hand; and if that happened while he was in his current fevered state, he didn't know if he'd be able to do anything to save himself.

Then again, he wasn't nearly as worried about his own safety as much as he was Jack's. If he couldn't get Parker out of the house and away from the boy, then he had to do everything in his power to keep the man's focus solely on him—a task that should be easy enough.

After all, the only reason Parker was even here was because of him.

He just needed to hold on until his friends got there.

And he needed to come up with a better plan.

He needed to get his gun back.

He needed to stop shaking like a fucking leaf.

Dammit!

He needed a lot of things.

He needed to get through another round with Parker Simmons, and he needed to survive it.

He could do that.

He could survive.

He could play along and give Parker exactly what he wanted. He could pretend to want him...turn him on...get him to hopefully set the gun down. If Parker got worked up enough then he'd undoubtedly want both of his hands free.

Free to do other things.

Lewd, vile, horrible things.

A shudder ran through his body at the revolting thoughts that filled his mind—the sickening implications of what he was contemplating. This could very well turn into that awful Saturday morning all over again, except this time there was so much more at stake.

He held his breath as they started to pass by Jack's room, and he prayed to whatever deity might be out there that the kid stayed absolutely quiet until they were safely deposited inside the master bedroom; and when they entered Aaron's room without incident, he let out the breath he'd been holding, his body relaxing minutely.

Unfortunately his relief was short-lived, because a moment later the gun left his skull and the arm attached to it curled around his shoulders, pulling his back firmly against Parker's chest. Hot breath bathed his neck, and there was a moan behind him as an open mouth began trailing wet kisses along his skin...making it crawl.

A shiver ran down his spine.

The touch was deceitfully soft and tender, and he tried his best to hold back a sob that wanted to escape at the feel. He wasn't as successful with the silent tears that began falling from his burning eyes.

Lips and tongue worked to claim the long stretch of skin from his collar to his ear, then teeth nipped at the shell as a breathy, lustful voice filled his mind.

"I missed this body, baby...so goddamn much. I missed every single inch of you..."

When Parker's other hand snaked around his hip to palm him over his pants, the sob that had been stuck in his throat hurled out of him; and the hand working him pressed down harder in answer, rubbing and stroking through soft flannel.

He bit his lip in an attempt to remain quiet.

"I missed this _cock_ , too..." fingers circled around his flaccid flesh, gripping him tight, and he tensed as Parker groaned, "And I just can't fucking wait to bury myself deep inside your tight little ass again..."

"No!" he cried, attempting to move away from the torturous touch without even giving thought to the consequences such an action could elicit.

There was a snarl behind him, and the arm around his shoulders tightened while the hand on his crotch moved to grip harshly at his thigh, pressing the long line of their bodies firmly together.

"Not a good idea, Spence," the man hissed, hips thrusting into him, "Fucking. Stay. Still."

He did his best to comply.

Really, he did.

He tried to ignore the hot, hard cock pushing up against his backside and the hand roaming back toward his groin as he stood there—his eyes, teeth and hands all tightly clenched together. Lips met the juncture between his neck and his shoulder, and that mouth teased him, sucking softly at the skin before abruptly biting down.

 _Hard._

He gasped at the sudden burst of pain, involuntarily leaning into the body behind him.

"That was for trying to move without permission."

"I'm s-sorry—"

"Hush," Parker ordered, voice like a razor's edge, "I don't want you to speak right now. Right now, all I want you to fucking do is get on that damn bed."

Following the command, the hands holding him in place left, the body behind him moved away, and he felt like he could finally breathe again.

He had space.

But then he looked toward the bed and his reprieve faded as quickly as it had arrived.

Nothing Parker had planned for him should ever happen in this room.

Not _this_ room.

This room was special.

This room was the place he ran to for comfort and solace. It helped to stave off all the monsters and the ghosts and the demons that haunted him—that tried to tear him apart and break him down. This place was where he felt safe, and protected, and adored...

.

" _I. Adore. You."_

.

Please, not this room.

He flinched as nails ripped across his scalp and fingers tangled into his hair, pulling him closer to the bed, then shoving him face down onto the mattress. Immediately the gun was back on him, pushing into the base of his skull once more to keep him still as a heavy weight settled atop his legs. There was a hand instantly sliding down his back, following the curve of his spine until it reached the waistband of his pants, then fingertips dipped under the elastic...teasing.

Parker bent down, blanketing him with heat.

Tongue and teeth were at his neck again, kissing and biting; hot breath sent a shiver through him.

There was a whisper against his skin.

"You taste exquisite, lover..."

The torturous hand in his pants descended further, moving over the flesh of his bare ass before slipping easily between his cheeks, running gently along the crack.

He whined deep in the back of his throat as he clamped his eyes shut, trying with everything in him to ignore what was happening; but when a finger brushed across his entrance he lost it, violently thrashing under the touch.

His heart beat wildly in his chest—shattering it with sheer panic.

He could feel Parker's erection hard and heavy against his upper thigh, and it was all just too fucking much for him.

"Please," he whimpered, his head swimming and his body sweltering as the room began to spin, "P-Please, Park...d-don't do this. Don't do this to me...don't do this...please...please don't—"

He heard a growl at his ear, then the weight covering him lifted and the gun moved away as hands roughly rolled him onto his back. Parker loomed above, lust filled eyes boring down on him. He could barely even see the ice blue of their irises as they raked over every inch of his body, and he was thankful that he still had his clothes on.

For now.

"You know, Spence, begging just turns me on more," the man whispered, groping himself with his free hand as he continued to stare, "Now, just lay there and let me take a good look at you, beautiful. God..." he sighed, "You've always been so fucking gorgeous like this, you know...lying beneath me. It's exactly where you belong...the _only_ place you belong."

He could feel the burn of a blush on his cheeks at the crude way his ex was leering at him. It was unnerving to say the least—like the man was undressing him in his mind.

After a few moments, though, Parker forced a knee between Reid's legs to separate them, and Spencer fought the action as much as he could until the gun was shoved back in his face.

That's when he froze.

He stopped struggling, reluctantly allowing his legs to be spread apart; and Parker settled into the space between with ease, lowering his body to drape over Spencer's shivering form. He nuzzled his nose into the curve of Reid's neck, taking a deep inhale as his fingers tangled in messy locks—damp from sweat.

"Baby, you're burning up," Parker cooed, lifting his head to examine him, "What's wrong, hm? Do I just make you that hot?"

"No." He frowned, glaring up at the smug look, "I'm sick, Park. _Obviously._ "

"Awww...you poor little thing." The barrel of the revolver gently traced the curve of Spencer's face, and he tried his best to ignore its presence. "How could Aaron just up and leave you like this? Sick and all alone? Helpless, defenseless... _weak,"_ Parker smirked, "He must not really care about you after all..."

"Stop it," he whispered, "Just...just stop."

He didn't want to hear Aaron's name falling from Parker's lying lips.

"Don't worry, Spence. You don't need Aaron... _I'll_ make it all better," hips rocked forward, there was a kiss at his neck, lips pressing against his rapidly beating pulse, "Like I said, baby, this doesn't have to hurt. I'll make you feel so good...I promise."

"No," he let out a broken sob, his voice cracking as his throat closed in on itself, "Park, don't—"

His pleas were abruptly silenced by the gun thrusting painfully into his neck, and then Parker's lips were crushing his. He let out a startled gasp, quickly giving way to the forceful onslaught. It felt like he was being claimed with the severity of it all...the tongue in his mouth fiercely exploring every single inch...reaching deep inside...slithering down his throat until he choked on it.

Parker thrust forward again, and he could sense the man's heavy arousal meet his own flaccidity through thin fabric—the only barrier still protecting him.

The smell of cinnamon invaded his nostrils, bringing with it a flood of memories from the past.

It was all brutally overwhelming.

Nails scraped along his collar bone, tearing aggressively at his shirt; he heard the fabric rip, and a part of his heart broke at the sound.

Teeth bit his lower lip as hips rutted heatedly against him, rubbing and teasing—pulling him sickly close to response.

Warmth began to travel down his body, creeping low into his groin.

He heard a moan, but he really had no idea who it came from.

He couldn't breathe. He was suffocating under the weight of everything around him—drowning in the reality of what was happening.

Bile rose to the back of his throat once more, burning, filling his mouth with sour acidity; the nausea consumed him.

He couldn't handle this.

He just couldn't do it.

He couldn't make himself pretend to be interested when all he truly wanted to do was throw the man off him.

Before he could think better of it, his hands were up against Parker's chest, attempting to push him away; trying to get space and air and _relief_. He thrashed beneath him, screaming as his hands balled into fists and began striking out wildly at anything and everything they could.

When he felt the gun leave his neck he thought maybe he'd actually managed to hurt Parker for a minute, but then a sharp pain burst through his jaw as the revolver made gripping contact with his face again.

His head snapped to the side and his body instantly stilled from the shock of the impact.

He stopped fighting.

He stopped struggling.

He stopped everything and just tried to breathe through the throbbing ache as his eyes clenched tightly shut.

Then Parker was hissing in his ear, and the wretched sound brought him back into the torture of the moment, grounding him in his own personal hell.

"If you try something like that again, I'll find the kid...and I'll fucking kill him."

"NO!" his insides turned to ice as he looked back up into rage-filled eyes, terror coiling deep within him, "Please, no! I-I-I'm sorry...I promise, I'll...I'll do whatever you say!"

The gun came back up to his face and slid roughly down his cheek, then followed the line of his neck and shoulder.

"If you try _anything_ ," Parker snarled, moving the barrel along the length of his arm, "I'll kill that kid, and I'll make you watch while I do it." The cold metal stopped at the crook of his elbow, the front sight digging sharply into his flesh, "And then, after I'm done with him, I'll shoot you so full of drugs that you won't even know who the fuck you are anymore." He smirked, bringing the gun back up to rest against Reid's chin, "And I'll fucking keep you like that, Spence."

"P-Please, no," his face crumpled as tears flowed freely from his eyes. The idea of that happening was bone-chillingly terrifying. He was shaking, his heart pounding, his jaw throbbing, and his cheeks flush with fever, "Parker, y-you don't—you d-don't have to do that. P-Please—"

"Maybe I should do it anyway," the man cut him off, voice simmering with rage, "After all... _YOU DID DESTROY MY FUCKING LIFE!"_

Reid flinched and drew in a sharp breath as Parker yelled in his face.

"So, what do ya say, Spence? Do you wanna party with me?" Hips rocked down into him again, a slow and steady motion, "You can't tell me your veins don't scream for a fix. I mean, just look at you...you're completely miserable. You'd be better off in a drug-induced oblivion...and god...I could have so much fun with you like _that_..."

"No no no no..." he mumbled, turning his head to the side and closing his eyes once more.

He couldn't stand to look at the person he thought he'd loved at one point. How on earth could he have been so monumentally _wrong_ about someone?

The man was completely insane.

"Yeah," Parker laughed, "I think that sounds absolutely fucking perfect, baby. I'll keep you _high_..." he bent down and licked up Reid's neck to his ear, whispering, "...and I'll do whatever the fuck I want to you..." the revolver feathered over his collar bone before dipping down below his shirt, "...whenever I want..." then cold steel was back at his neck, "...and you'll love every single minute of it. Hell, you won't even know anything else. I'll be your entire fucking _world._ "

Reid felt himself hyperventilating at the thought of that scenario actually being his future; but what was truly terrifying to him was the fact that he really didn't think Parker was bluffing.

At all.

The man had had Dilaudid hidden inside his house; there had to be a reason for that.

He heard Aaron's voice answering the question for him...

.

" _Reid, I believe he would have either threatened to make it look like you'd relapsed...or he would have very likely used it, actually injecting you with it as a form of chemical restraint."_

.

Chemical restraint.

The mere idea of that had him panicking—heart racing, body trembling, chest tight, sweaty, hot, fevered, dizzy.

His eyes shot wide open as he gasped for air.

That's when he saw it.

That's when everything in his mind cleared.

There was an orange and blue stegosaurus staring right back at him, and he let out a tiny sob as Jack's sweet voice echoed in his head...

.

" _If you want, you can keep Spike...he always gives me strength when I'm scared..."_

.

Jack.

Jack was counting on him, and he needed to get it together. He couldn't let himself break down.

Not now.

Not yet.

Not when he still had something left to fight for. He had to find the strength he desperately hoped was inside him; and he had to fight for Jack and Aaron.

He had to fight for himself.

No matter what happened, he wasn't going to let Parker break him.

Even if he couldn't beat the other man—even if he couldn't win in the end—he wouldn't make the victory an easy one.

He wouldn't just lie there and take it.

Not again.

This wasn't like the last time.

This time he would fight tooth and nail, and he'd make Parker fucking work for it.

He would go down fighting...for his family.

But to do that, he needed to get Parker to put the gun down; and to get him to put the gun down, he needed to play into the sick fantasy. He had to give in to the man above him and make him believe it. He had to be the submissive lover he knew Parker wanted him to be, and he had to make it convincing.

He gave one last look to Spike, steeled his nerves, and then slowly turned his head to stare up into menacing blue eyes. He felt like his chest was about to explode, but he swallowed down the scream he really wanted to release and instead let out a soft, timid whisper, "I'm...sorry. You're right. I—" a tear rolled down his cheek as he forced the vile words out, "I'm m-miserable here...w-without you. I was just confused, b-but I'm not anymore. Aaron...he—he doesn't make me happy. You're the only one who's ever made me happy, and I shouldn't have left. I should have stayed, l-like you told me to. I'm so sorry. I—I miss you, Park..."

Parker cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, studying him; and he tried to school his expression to show only remorse and sorrow.

Be convincing.

A thumb came up and wiped away the tear that had fallen from his cheek, the touch surprisingly tender. He didn't think he flinched away from it...at least, he hoped he hadn't.

"I missed you too, baby," Parker breathed, "I still love you, Spence."

"You do?"

The words sounded so sincere, a complete one-eighty from before, and he found himself actually believing them. In some sick, twisted, perverse way, Parker truly did seem to care about him.

"Of course," the man answered, gently running fingers through Spencer's hair, "I never stopped loving you; but you made a terrible mistake by leaving me."

"I-I know, and I'm so sorry. Will you forgive me? Will you give me another chance?" he asked, "To...to show you? Please? Let me show you how much I...h-how much I love you. I'll be good, Park, I promise."

"You'll be my good boy?"

He had to fight back a shudder at the phrase; the words repulsive to his ears. Instead of showing any of that, though, he simply replied with what he knew Parker wanted to hear, "Yes. I want to—um, to be good...for you." He paused, letting a shy, seductive lilt flow through his voice, "Will you let me? I...I can be _so_ good for you..."

He watched as Parker's lips curved up into a sharp grin, then they slowly came down to meet his own in a soft kiss. He forced his mouth to open easily, letting out a tiny whimper as he allowed the man to deepen the connection. Their tongues met, and Parker started thrusting in and out at a steady and smooth pace—massaging, sucking, nipping.

Hips quickly began to mimic the motions, but the gun remained firmly fixed at his neck while Parker's free hand moved along his side, dipping under the hem of his shirt. Nails scratched across his stomach and advanced under the fabric, raking over a nipple.

He gasped, trying to keep his trembling to a minimum, but he was fighting back a powerful wave of nausea, along with a bit of sheer terror at what he was doing. He could feel Parker's cock growing harder against him, and his mind screamed _run run run_ ; but he fought against it and made his hands move, shakily bringing them up to cling to the man's back, pulling their bodies closer. He let the softest moan escape his mouth, and Parker hungrily swallowed the sound, growling against his lips as he rutted into him. The mattress squeaked grotesquely under the ministrations, and he couldn't stop his agonized whine at the movement.

Luckily, the noise seemed to go unnoticed, which told him his plan was working. Parker was getting worked up, losing himself in the moment, in his lust.

In Reid's body.

He needed to step it up, keep selling it.

He wrapped his legs around Parker's waist and rocked up into him, letting out another moan, this one much louder and much more erotic than the last. Then he thrust his own tongue forward, entering the mouth above, making the action feel needy and desperate and wanted as he dug his nails into Parker's back.

That's when he felt the pressure from the barrel against his neck lessen, and his heart began to race.

Parker broke away from the kiss, lapping and sucking his way along Reid's jaw, teeth grazing until he reached his ear. "Well now, just look at you," he darkly chuckled, "All wanton and desperate. You missed me just as much as I missed you, didn't you lover?"

He just needed to sell it, just had to keep going.

"Y-Yes..." he shuddered, breathless and dizzy from the frantic hammering of his heart and his rapidly rising fever. He was sweating profusely, his shirt damp as it clung to him; but that could easily be attributed to arousal. It helped with the charade, and because of that he was actually a little thankful for his illness in that moment. The gun was still trained on him, though, and he needed to be more alluring—he needed to make Parker want to take him with both hands.

"Please, Park," he sighed, arching his back, pushing his chest up into the other man's, "I...need you. I wanna feel you...all—all over me..."

His mouth was claimed again, and Parker rocked down, groaning as he brought his hand up to fist in sweaty, tangled hair.

He almost cried out with joy when he felt the gun finally leave his neck, listening as it was haphazardly thrown to the bedside table; but then the hand that had held the weapon was slithering roughly down his body, and he started to panic.

Fingers pulled aggressively at the waistband of his pants. He could feel them slipping past his hips, exposing his flushed and heated skin to the cool air.

Exposing _him._

He was gonna be sick.

He couldn't let this go any further.

He'd accomplished what he'd set out to do. Parker no longer had the gun trained on him. It was time, and he needed to act before he lost his chance.

Before things got completely out of his control.

He did his best to calm his nerves, then quickly pulled out of the kiss, panting heavily as he met Parker's half-lidded, lust-blown eyes. He hesitated for just a moment longer, thinking about the consequences his actions could have, then fully committed to his plan and slammed his head directly into the man's face.

"FUCK!" Parker screamed, the weight of his body immediately leaving Spencer's as he fell to the mattress beside him.

Reid scrambled to get away, jumping out of the bed as quickly as he could. The movement was too fast, though, and it had him instantly reeling from the dizziness and pain that assaulted him. His vision blurred and he stumbled as the room tilted and swirled around him, but thankfully he managed to remain on his feet. He was slightly disoriented, but he knew he didn't have any time to waste with trivial things like passing out.

He had to get his gun.

Parker had thrown it on the nightstand.

He blinked several times as he scanned the space, eyes landing on the revolver at the very same instant that his feet frantically started running toward it. When his fingers circled around the wooden grip he let out an audible sigh of relief; but just as he was about to turn and aim the weapon at Parker, something rammed into him from behind, throwing him to the floor on his stomach.

His heart broke when he felt the gun slip from his hold, and a wave of devastation took him over as he watched it slide out of his reach. Then a heavy weight was on top of him, fire shooting through his skull as his head was yanked up by the roots of his hair.

Fingers curled around his chin, squeezing tight, keeping his head still.

There was a biting snarl at his ear.

" _Stupid_ , Spencer! That was so goddamn fucking stupid of you, baby..."

"Stop!" he screeched, bucking against Parker's hold. He was pretty much out of options now that his one and only plan had completely failed. If he didn't fight back and win now then he was more than likely dead already, and so was Jack. "Get _off_ me!" he kicked out wildly as he clawed at the hand in his hair, trying to do as much damage as he possibly could, "I won't let you do this! Get off! _Get the fuck off!"_

He shrieked when that hand pulled harder on his scalp, then the hold on his chin left and an arm circled around his chest, bringing him closer to the man behind him.

"You need to fucking calm down," Parker growled, "Here...let me help you with that."

"Wait! No, _please!_ Nononono—"

The next thing he knew, his head was hurling into the corner of the bedside table, and time seemed to slow down. His vision went white as a burst of blinding, searing pain ricocheted through his skull; then the hands holding him up let go and he slumped back down to the floor, his body limp and unmoving.

Everything in him felt numb...heavy...and he wasn't exactly sure what was happening or where he was.

He was confused.

His breath sawed in and out of his chest through painful gasps, and his head throbbed terribly with the effort. Something hot and sticky began dripping down his face, but he didn't know what it was or why it was there.

He thought he heard someone talking to him, an echo from far away.

A tunnel?

Was he in a tunnel?

Or a well?

Probably not...that didn't make any sense.

Did it?

He didn't think he liked the sound of the voice, wherever it was coming from. It scratched at him, clawed at his mind, and he wanted to ignore it.

He tried to pretend it wasn't there.

Something was on him—hands—turning him over.

He felt his arms flop uselessly at his sides as he landed on his back, spots of black and red dancing above him. He tried to blink them away, squinting, attempting to make out what was now directly in front of him.

Blue eyes.

That's what he saw—crystal blue eyes staring down at him from above, and dark shaggy hair, and handsomely sharp features.

Beautiful.

"Dammit, Spence, you're gonna pay for that...and I'm gonna make it fucking _hurt._ "

Those blue eyes were right in his face then.

Cold and close.

So very close.

Too close.

He could feel the warmth of the man's breath, smell the sickly sweet scent of cinnamon thick in the air...

.

 _He always smelled of cinnamon._

.

"I—I know you. Don't I?" he murmured, slowly lifting his hand up to touch the man's cheek. It took more effort than he thought it should, really. "You're...you're the one who always...always smells like cinnamon..."

"What the hell's wrong with you, baby?" Parker stared down at him, grinning, "You seem a little out of it. Disoriented...confused..." The man brought his own hand up to gently cover the one on his cheek, sharp eyes narrowing in on Reid, examining him carefully. "Tell me, Spencer," he whispered, "Do you know what's happening to you right now?"

Did he? Did he know?

He _should_ know, but nothing made sense so he sadly shook his head. "Will, um...will you h-help me?" he asked, "Please...I—I think I need...I need help. Please help me..."

"Oh you sweet little thing...of course I will," Parker softly cooed, his smile growing as he leaned down close, "I'm gonna take real good care of you, Spencer; and all you have to do is lay there and do exactly as I say."

Their lips met in a soft, smooth kiss; and as a warm tongue sunk heavily into his mouth he felt a tear roll down his face.

He didn't know why.

He _did_ know that something wasn't right, though.

He could sense it.

Whatever was happening was very, very wrong.

He tensed when Parker pulled away from him.

"Fuck, Spence...do you even know where you are?" the man laughed, clearly amused. He bent back down to brush his lips against the shell of Reid's ear, smirking, "Or did I really hit you that hard?"

A shiver ran down his spine at the question.

It felt familiar.

"It, it hurts," he whimpered, brows furrowing as more tears fell from his eyes. He had no idea why he was crying or why he was in so much pain. He frantically tried to piece together what he thought he should know from what he didn't think he knew. "You..." he breathed, reality creeping slowly back in around the edges of his mind, "It—It was you. You did this to me. You're the one who, who hurt me..."

It wasn't a question.

Not anymore.

He knew the answer.

Everything was coming back to him.

"Oh yeah. I'll be your agony, baby." Parker abruptly snatched both Reid's wrists in a severe grip and brutally slammed them down on either side of his head, cutting off circulation to his hands, "I'm gonna make sure you never fucking disobey me again, lover."

.

" _There's my good boy."_

.

"Th-There's my good boy..." Spencer repeated the phrase that echoed in his mind, and it tasted rancid falling from his tongue.

It made his skin crawl, just like it always had.

A flood of emotions washed over him in that instant, with those awful words, and everything came back into stark and overwhelming clarity. He gasped, gulping down mouthfuls of air, trying to take in as much oxygen as he possibly could. It felt like he'd been drowning in a haze of altered states, jumbled memories and broken timelines.

But he knew exactly what was happening to him now. He remembered who he was with, who was on top of him, straddling his legs and pinning him to the floor.

Parker Simmons.

His ex.

The man was going to rape him, and he was going to do it in Aaron's bedroom.

He snapped back into reality just in time to feel his pants being pulled down, and terror gnawed at his insides.

"No," he mumbled, voice hoarse, scratchy.

His mind was screaming at him to fight against what was happening, to do _something_ , but his body still refused to move.

He was tired, heavy, sluggish.

He realized that if he couldn't regain control of himself very soon, he'd have no choice but to ride out whatever Parker wanted to do to him.

Just like he'd had to do the last time.

"No...this—this can't happen," he cried, pleading with the man above him as he looked into frigid eyes, "Not here. Please, Park...don't—don't do this to me in here. Just—anywhere but here... _please_..."

"No no no, Spence," Parker's voice cut through the air, low and cold, "This is exactly where I'm gonna fucking _do_ you. It's the perfect place, baby...the perfect place to _rip you apart_..." There was a pause, and Parker cocked his head, eyes roaming, "I'm gonna enjoy wrecking this gorgeous little body of yours...tearing you to pieces; and when I'm done, Aaron'll know exactly who the fuck you belong to. He'll know that you're _mine."_

He closed his eyes at that, trying to mentally prepare himself for whatever happened next. He knew it wasn't going to be a pleasant experience, and that Parker would be sure to make it as painful as possible after he'd tried to escape. He had no doubt that the man was going to hurt him as much as he could to teach him a lesson.

But when he heard Parker start to undo his belt buckle something inside him finally woke back up...and his body started to move.

He couldn't let this happen.

He _wouldn't._

Not in the one place that had become his safe haven. He refused to allow Parker to take that away from him.

He refused to be his victim again.

"I'm not yours," he growled, heart pounding as he opened his eyes and met that intense stare, "And I'll never _be_ yours."

Before the man could respond, Reid began kicking out repeatedly and with as much force as he could muster. He didn't stop until his foot landed a firm blow right to Parker's crotch, sending the man doubling over in pain, clutching at his groin, and spewing curses at him like daggers.

It only took a split second for his mind to tell his body to move, then he was rolling onto his stomach and crawling across the floor toward his gun. He half expected to be pulled away again when he reached it, but that didn't happen, and he quickly snatched the revolver into his hands, turning back and aiming the weapon in Parker's direction. His vision was still impaired, but he could see well enough to make a shot if he needed to.

"Don't move!" he yelled, voice breathless and winded, hands trembling, "S-Stay away from me or I'll shoot!"

He thought maybe he was hearing things when Parker started to laugh, but then the man looked at him, a giant grin stretching across his face that reached all the way to his eyes.

"Oh _please!_ You're not gonna shoot me, Spence," he taunted, rising back up to his feet and quirking a brow as he stared down at him. His hand came forward, reaching toward the weapon, "Now baby, you really need to give me that gun before you hurt yourself..."

There was a menacing undercurrent to the command, but the only thing Spencer gave him was an incredulous look.

Did Parker honestly think he was that stupid? That he would just hand over the only thing still keeping him alive?

No.

He knew if he lost the gun now he was probably dead—or worse. So, instead of complying with the ludicrous request he struggled to his feet, pulling his pants back up and clutching them tightly around his waist with one hand while continuing to aim the gun with the other.

Parker took a step closer to him.

"S-Stop!" He shook his head, swallowing thickly. The grip of the revolver felt much too slippery beneath his sweaty palm, and he knew he was shaking too much. He really hoped it wasn't noticeable. "I _will_ shoot you if you don't stay away from me."

"You're a coward," Parker scoffed, taking another step forward, closer still, "You haven't got the balls. _You're fucking weak!"_

"I'm not weak!" he cried, anger, fear and panic all mingling together in the pit of his stomach, threatening to boil over. He wanted to shoot Parker right then and there and just be done with it all. Be done with _him._ He watched as the man took yet another step closer, and he tried to counter it; but his back hit the wall behind him, trapping him. "I fucking mean it!" he yelled, a traitorous tremor filling out the words as they fell from his lips, "Stay back! Just... _please!"_

He could see a savage rage building deep in Parker's eyes, and a searing hatred simmering unbridled just beneath the man's skin; and that's when he knew Parker was about to snap—he was coming unhinged, losing any and all mental stability—and he would kill him if he got close enough.

But salvation was on the horizon.

His ears perked up when he suddenly heard the faint yet unmistakable sound of sirens blaring in the distance, and he almost collapsed from the relief that crashed over him. That sound was glorious and beautiful, like an angel's song, and it gave him renewed hope.

He just had to hold on for a few more precious minutes.

"Do you hear that? The sirens?" he asked, his voice growing a bit more sure, more steady, more confident, "Do you know who that is, Park? That's my team. That's _Aaron._ He's almost here. It's all over for you now. _This._..." he motioned between the two of them, "This is all over."

"No!" Parker seethed, rage twisting and distorting his sharp features, "You're mine, Spence! You're always gonna _be_ mine!" He took a step closer and Reid tightened his grip on the gun, breath catching in his throat. "And do you know what else, baby?" he snarled, "I'm gonna make sure you fucking _die_ mine..." Without warning, Parker lunged forward, grabbing at him as he screamed pure hate into the air, _"I'll fucking kill you before I let anyone else have you!"_

The next few minutes seemed more like hours.

Parker jumped toward him and he pulled the trigger without even thinking, the sound of the gun's rapport resonating off the walls and echoing painfully through his head.

Parker stopped immediately after, staring wide-eyed and disbelieving at him for just a moment before clutching at his knee, a pool of deep red blooming over his pants.

He watched as the man fell to the ground, crying out in pain.

In agony, really.

"I'm not weak!" he tried to scream, but it sounded more like a broken sob to his ears, "And I'm not yours! Do you fucking hear me?! I'm not yours! You're absolutely _nothing!"_ Tears streamed unbidden down his face as he watched his nightmare, Parker Simmons, writhing on the ground in front of him—small, and broken, and bleeding. "You...you don't own me..." he leaned his back against the wall, legs trembling, voice nothing but a whisper, "I'm not weak...and I'm not yours...and you can't hurt me anymore."

At that, his body gave out and he slid all the way down the wall, collapsing in a heap on the floor. He still clung to the smoking revolver, holding it tightly in his hand as he pointed it at Parker. He wasn't entirely sure that he shouldn't just pull the trigger again. He'd aimed for his knee the first time, but part of him thought maybe the man deserved a bullet to the head as well.

It would certainly make things...easier.

Suddenly, though, he heard the thunderous roar of footsteps closing in—getting louder as they stormed up the stairs—and his eyes shifted to the door, body flinching when it burst open.

FBI and police kevlar flooded the room, and he didn't know if he'd ever seen a more gorgeous sight.

Even still, he couldn't drop his aim from Parker's head. Couldn't stop thinking about ripping a searing path through the man's brain matter—the part of him that made him exactly who he was.

The part of him that made him a monster.

"Down on the floor!"

He wasn't sure who'd yelled the command, but it was obviously a man's voice, and it was very familiar—and very angry.

Rossi or Morgan, maybe.

He felt hands on him, and he jerked away from the touch, keeping his weapon expertly trained on its target. His eyes never deviated; they followed Parker as he was pushed to his stomach on the ground, his arms harshly yanked behind his back.

A loud click sounded in the room as the cuffs were placed around bound wrists.

He watched as Morgan...it was Morgan...pulled the injured, limping man up to his feet.

Roughly.

The manhandling hadn't really been necessary, but it was strangely satisfying to witness.

"Parker Simmons, you're under arrest."

There was a hand on him again, landing on his arm, applying gentle yet firm pressure downward. He knew what it was doing—what it wanted. It was trying to get him to lower his arm, his weapon, his aim. He couldn't do that, though; the danger was still present, still palpable in the air, still right in front of him.

He couldn't lower his defenses, and he couldn't take his eyes off Morgan and Parker.

"Spencer, I need you to give me the gun."

Oh.

He knew that voice...that soft tone. It was more than just familiar to him; it was _essential._ It was like heaven—smooth and rich and pure velvet, and it soothed him down from the edge of whatever cliff he'd been teetering precariously over. It was right next to his ear, and it was coaxing him to turn away from the scene before him.

"Look at me, Sweetheart."

Warily, he obeyed the request, shifting his gaze from Parker and Morgan over to the person crouched beside him.

The man he'd thought he may never see again.

Warm, chocolate brown eyes met his, flooding his body with relief that was almost overwhelming.

"Aaron," he breathed, trembling as the name flowed from his lips, "It's really you. I—I knew you'd come."

He was starting to shake as his body came down from its fight or flight response, all the adrenaline coursing through his veins dissipating into his muscles, making them spasm, releasing pent up energy.

He didn't seem to need it anymore.

The danger was finally over.

It was _all_ over, and he'd done it.

He'd held on long enough for Aaron and the team to get there.

As he came down from his heightened state, he could feel exhaustion start to creep in, along with his raging fever.

"Yeah, baby, it's me," Aaron murmured, the hand on his arm moving to circle gently around his wrist, "I'm right here with you and everything's gonna be okay now, so you can let me have the gun."

He started to nod his head in agreement, his fingers relaxing; but right before he relinquished the weapon Parker's voice filled the quiet of the room, and he flinched away, gasping as he gripped tight to the revolver once more.

"I'll kill you, Spence!" the man roared, loud and seething and dripping with hate. His voice was laced with the agony of a gun shot wound and all the ire that came with it, "I don't care what I have to do, _I'll fucking kill you for this, you little shit!"_

The next action was quick, much too quick for his addled mind to process, so everything ended up feeling as though it were happening in hazy slow motion. One instant Aaron was next to him, soothing him, telling him he was okay; and the next second he was cold as the warmth of Aaron's body disappeared from his side.

He felt empty and alone.

He could hear several voices, muffled and fuzzy, mixing together in his head.

Jumbled.

They were yelling at someone.

" _Hotch, stop!"_

" _You're never gonna hurt him again, you piece of shit!"_

It sounded like there was a struggle.

A loud thump.

The floor quaked beneath him.

" _Don't!"_

" _I'll kill you before you lay a goddamn hand on him!"_

He heard the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh.

Repeatedly.

Over and over.

" _Get off him, man!"_

" _How the fuck does it feel to be on the receiving end of a beating, huh?!"_

He heard the sickening crunch of bones cracking and breaking.

" _Go help Reid!"_

" _You're nothing to him! Do you hear me?! Absolutely fucking nothing!"_

A wet, agonized groan left someone's throat.

He wasn't sure who it belonged to.

" _Hotch, cool it! This isn't the time! Spencer needs you right now!"_

All the voices and sounds seemed too far away to be coming from the people in front of him, but he saw their mouths moving anyway. Instinctively he raised his gun, looking for whatever his mind perceived to be the biggest threat. His vision was clearing, and he was slightly confused when his eyes landed on Parker and Aaron, the latter violently pounding fists into the former's face while pinning him on the floor.

Parker wasn't fighting back, and Aaron wasn't easing up.

It was brutal, and savage, and inhuman; and it was far too _real._

The sight of it was like a tidal wave, sending everything crashing back to him at full force.

All his senses sharpened and the room was engulfed in a roar of sounds and sights and smells. He heard his team—Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss. They were yelling at the two bodies on the ground.

He watched Morgan run up to Hotch and try to pull him away.

He could smell blood, thick and heavy. It wasn't his, though—he hadn't bled nearly enough to cause the damp copper scent that filled the air.

He was smelling someone else's blood.

Parker's blood.

That's right...he'd shot Parker, and now he was watching the love of his life beat his living nightmare into a bloody pulp. Aaron looked like he was completely out of his mind, lost in undiluted rage; and Spencer had no doubt that he would kill Parker if nobody stopped him.

And so far, no one had been able to.

 _He_ needed to do it. He had to stop Aaron from making a huge mistake. He had to get through to him.

"Aaron, stop!" he cried, and then, to his startled surprise, _everything_ stopped.

Everyone—FBI, police, and the two people thrashing about on the floor all turned to look at him.

Aaron's eyes were dark as they stared into his, hate and anger storming menacingly in their depths. It was slightly unnerving to see.

Parker looked like he was on the verge of passing out, blood pouring from a broken nose and a split lip. Only one of those crystal blue eyes of his were open, the other was swollen shut.

His team and the police were examining him as well, but they weren't looking at his face. Their eyes were all fixed on the revolver in his hand.

He followed their gaze, and that's when he realized he was still holding the gun up; and, to his horror, he was aiming it directly at _Aaron's_ head.

The perceived biggest threat.

Instantly he lowered the weapon, pointing it to the floor and swallowing thickly before repeating, calmer, slower, "Aaron, stop. I—I need you to stop this. He's not worth it. Please...please just come back to me."

He maintained eye contact with Hotch, breathing a sigh of relief the moment the older man came to his senses. He could tell because the dark, stormy look in his eyes changed, rapidly growing soft and still.

Returning to the warm chocolate he loved so much.

He watched as Aaron rose and quickly ran back to him, falling to his knees on the floor by his side. He didn't know he was crying until a thumb came up and gingerly wiped a tear from his face.

"Shhh...don't cry," Aaron whispered, leaning in close, "I'm so sorry, honey. I didn't mean to lose my temper, but...I'm okay now." Spencer gave him a small nod, and they both turned to look at the team. Morgan was hauling a barely conscious Parker back up to his feet. "Get him the hell out of here. _Now_ ," Hotch ordered, voice nothing but a guttural growl, "I don't want him anywhere near us." When he turned back to Reid, he quickly placed his hand over the one still holding the revolver, his tone soft and soothing as their eyes met, "Spencer, it's all over. I'm right here with you, and you're safe. Sweetheart, will you please let me have the gun now?"

His hand was starting to shake, his target had left the room, and Aaron was back by his side. Also, the pressure the man was placing on his arm kept increasing, growing more desperate. He had no energy left to fight it, so he let his hand be lowered the rest of the way, then released the weapon into Aaron's care. He knew he could trust Hotch, and he watched as the gun was immediately handed off to someone else, the pair never once breaking eye contact.

"Baby, are you alright?"

Big, warm, familiar hands came up to cradle his face, and he leaned into the touch as he closed his eyes and savored the gentleness of it. He knew those beautiful hands so well, and he knew they wouldn't hurt him.

They weren't _deceitful._

He gave Aaron a slight nod in answer.

He was okay. He was alive, and he was okay, and he'd stopped Parker from doing horrible things—from destroying everything he held dear.

"Spencer, I need you to talk to me," Hotch pushed, and Reid opened his eyes, noting how the other man's were darting up and down his body, looking him over, "Honey, you're scaring me. Use your words; let me know you're really okay."

He wasn't using his words?

He hadn't realized.

Apparently he'd been too busy basking in the warmth that was currently surrounding him to notice.

Slowly, he nodded his head again, swallowing to wet his parched throat. "I-I'm okay," he rasped, "But, um..."

There was something else nagging at him, something very important he needed to tell Aaron. His brain hadn't completely kicked back into gear, though, and he couldn't quite remember what it was. He felt like he was missing something massive, and when it finally hit him 3.67 seconds later, his entire body tensed back up as he clutched tightly to Aaron's arms, terror gripping his chest.

That's when he panicked.

"Oh my god... _Jack!"_ he sobbed, dread clawing its way out of him, "P-Parker...he—he was gonna...oh god, Aaron! He—He said he would kill him! He was gonna kill—he was—"

"Hey, hey, hey...shhh. Jack's fine," Aaron assured, halting his mounting hysteria, "He's with JJ and he's not hurt. He stayed in his room the whole time, just like you told him to. He's safe, Sweetheart. He's safe...because of you."

"O-Oh..." It took him a few moments to reconcile Aaron's words, but when he did, relief shot through him like a bullet. "Oh, thank _god_..."

The crushing weight that lifted off him at the revelation was the last thing Spencer could handle, and he let himself collapse fully and completely into Aaron's arms, crying as the older man held him in a tight and protective embrace.

Safe.

Jack was safe.

They were _all_ safe now.

Everyone.

"Spencer, are you hurt?"

"No." He pulled away from Aaron's warm chest and met his eyes, sniffling, "I mean, I—I don't think I am...not really."

Aaron gave him a doubtful look. "Baby, you're bleeding," he motioned to his head and his arms, "We have an ambulance waiting right outside."

"Aaron, no," he frantically shook his head, panic trying to invade his mind once again, "No no no...I don't wanna go back to the hospital. Please, Aaron, I just wanna stay here. I just wanna stay home—I wanna stay with you."

"Shhh, it's alright," Hotch soothed, "I won't make you go if you're truly okay; but first I need you to tell me exactly what he did to you."

He closed his eyes and sighed, thinking for a moment, taking inventory of all his injuries. He really didn't want to think about what had happened, but he'd have to give a statement sooner or later so he might as well start now.

"He—He hit me with the door, um, when we were on the phone. That's how he got inside the house. Then he, um, threw me into the console table. It broke...ah, the glass broke...my arms were cut—but they're only superficial. He pistol whipped me...twice, and then, um..." he reached up and touched his temple, hissing at the sting and the tacky feel of the skin. His fingers came back red and he grimaced at the sight. "He slammed my head into the nightstand, but all it did was daze me. I don't think I actually lost consciousness. Really, I'm fine. Please, Aaron..."

"Spencer, Sweetheart, I need to know—" Aaron's voice quavered, and his gaze moved back down Reid's body, examining his tattered clothing once more before locking their eyes together, "Did Parker...honey, did he do _anything_ else to you? Anything at all?"

Understanding finally dawned on him then, and he realized what Hotch was really trying to ask. "N-No," he captured Aaron's hand in his own, squeezing tightly as he adamantly shook his head, "No, Aaron, I promise. He—He didn't do anything else. He tried to, but it didn't get that far. I didn't let him. I, ah..." he smiled, whispering, "I stopped him...before he could."

The relief that filled the other man's face was overwhelming, and the hand in his returned the firm squeeze.

"Alright," Hotch gave him a small smile, tears welling up in his eyes as he caressed Spencer's cheek, "Good, honey...that's—that's good." He let out a heavy sigh as they continued to stare at one another, each taking in the other's presence. "Do you have any idea just how amazing you are? Or how strong? Or brave?" he asked, the words making Spencer blush, "God...I'm so very proud of you. You stood up to him, Spencer. You stood up to him, and you _beat_ him..." Hotch paused then, and the smile curving his lips grew, "Just like a superhero." Reid laughed, and Aaron leaned in to kiss his forehead, lingering for just a moment before pulling away and placing the back of his hand there instead, his smile fading, "You're burning up..."

He nodded at that. He was definitely feeling the symptoms of his illness—he was trembling, and hot, and exhausted.

His body ached.

"Spencer, will you at least let the EMTs take a look at you here," Aaron suggested, "They can clean your wounds and give you a quick exam, just to make sure you're okay."

"Aaron—" he tried to protest, but he was swiftly cut off.

"Baby, please. It would put my mind at ease."

He really didn't want anyone else touching him, but he understood that Hotch was worried, and he wanted to make him feel better.

It was the least he could do.

"Okay," he nodded, sighing as he relented to the other man, "But, um...will you stay with me?"

"Through it all," Aaron instantly replied, "Always."

.


	31. My Everything

Chapter Thirty-One

My Everything

.

Aaron watched as Spencer sat slumped on the couch, two EMTs on either side of him, tending to his wounds. His eyes were distant and unfocused, vacant; and an eerie blanket of flashing red and blue light illuminated his pale skin.

The front yard was a variable minefield of police cars and ambulances.

It reminded him of a crime scene, which made sense...because that's exactly what it was.

His home had once again been the scene of horribly violent acts committed against the people he loved. This time things had ended differently, thank god, but the terror he'd felt during the drive over had been exactly the same as the last time.

Absolutely gut-wrenching and almost completely paralyzing.

His mind had taken it upon itself to continuously and mercilessly supply him with all the worst case scenarios for what he could potentially walk into when he arrived. An image of Spencer lying cold and still on the bedroom floor, unseeing hazel eyes frozen open in death and body covered in blood haunted him. Then, other ideas had started to slowly creep in—like walking into the bedroom and actually witnessing Simmons assaulting Reid—or entering the house and simply finding no evidence of Spencer at all. He'd began to fear that maybe Reid would just be gone when he arrived, taken away, stolen from him without a trace.

He hadn't really known which possibility would be the worst...not knowing if Spencer was alive or dead, seeing undeniable proof that he was indeed dead, or having to see the look on his face while he was being raped.

They were all unthinkable.

Also, the entire time he'd been talking with Jack he'd been silently preparing himself to hear his son's bedroom door crash open as Parker Simmons' voice taunted him through the phone.

Just like the fucking Reaper.

That day had been one of the very worst days of his life, if not _the_ worst; but today could have certainly rivaled it. If things had gone sideways, he could have lost the two most important people in his life. He could have lost his entire _world_ , and his body shuddered at the mere thought.

Bringing his hands up to his face, he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing tiredly at them before running his fingers through his hair.

He let out a heavy, exhausted sigh.

This could have so easily been the new worst day of his life, but it wasn't.

It wasn't, because today hadn't gone sideways.

Spencer and Jack were okay. They were alive and safe, and Parker Simmons had been hauled off in handcuffs to the hospital. The day was going to end with his family intact, and he was immensely grateful for it as he turned his thoughts away from what could have been and back onto what was.

Back onto Reid.

Following Simmons' removal from the premises, Hotch had called Jessica to come keep Jack company—keep him busy and out of the way while the police collected evidence. Then he'd carefully helped Spencer out of the bedroom, directing him down the stairs and into the living room, where two paramedics were waiting. When Reid first saw them he'd instantly tensed up in Aaron's arms; but thankfully he'd still allowed them to usher him over to the couch. The only requirement he'd had for his full cooperation was that Hotch stay with him—a request Aaron had gladly granted—and Spencer had clung tight to his arm throughout the majority of the proceedings.

Once they'd been seated, the EMTs had performed a cursory exam—listening to Reid's heart and lungs, checking his vital signs, and assessing his pupillary response to make sure he wasn't in any imminent physical danger or distress. Spencer, for his part, had just sat there quietly throughout the whole process, squeezing Aaron's hand and staring off into space.

Much like he was doing right now.

After the initial exam, they'd given him a dose of ibuprofen for his spiking fever, then began to address his wounds, carefully looking each one over and cleaning them the best that they could. The laceration to his head had required three steristrips to close it up, and one of the EMTs placed a bandage over the wound to protect the area; but the abrasions to Reid's arms were superficial, just like he'd said they were. Once the cuts had been cleaned they hadn't looked nearly as bad as Hotch had feared.

And so far, no one had made any indication that Spencer _needed_ to go straight to the hospital, but Aaron was just waiting for it to happen. He knew if it did, if they suggested it, Reid would most likely protest. He'd try to fight against it; and he'd probably throw a fit.

So Aaron was biding his time and preparing himself to be the bad guy if he needed to.

He'd make Spencer go to the ER if it came down to it, if that's what was truly best for him. He'd force him to go because he was done standing by and letting things just fucking happen while he did nothing. That's how this whole mess started in the first place. If he'd just said something to Reid months ago...told him his concerns, told him how he felt...then they wouldn't even be in this situation right now.

Who knows where they'd be, really.

No...his job—his number one priority—was to protect and care for the ones he loved, and that's exactly what he was going to do from now on.

Even if some of his actions made the ones he loved angry.

While the EMTs were finishing up their work on Spencer's arms he'd had to step outside for a moment, but by then the younger man had calmed down enough to be a little more open to the idea. The local LEOs needed him to fill out paperwork and make arrangements for Reid to come down to the station to give his official statement. They'd wanted to take the information from Spencer right then and there, but Hotch had flat out refused, not allowing them anywhere near the genius at all. He'd sternly explained to them that Reid would give his statement in a few days, after everything had settled down and he'd recovered from the shock of the ordeal.

And now he was back inside, standing on the outskirts of the room as he watched the paramedics continue to work, and breathing a glorious sigh of relief that Jack and Spencer were truly alright.

He noticed movement out of his periphery, and his eyes shifted from Reid back to the entryway where JJ stood with a broom and dust pan in her hands.

Forensics had already been through the house, taking pictures and samples and dusting the area for prints; and after they were finished the team had leapt into action, cleaning up as much as they could in an effort to get everything back to normal.

Or, as back to normal as possible, anyway.

None of them wanted Spencer to see the aftermath of what had happened, Aaron included, and this was their way of helping. They were doing what little they could when there wasn't much of anything _to_ do.

JJ worked on the entry, sweeping up the shards of glass that littered the floor by the front door...some of it stained red. The broken frame of the console table had been moved into the garage, out of the way and out of sight.

Morgan used one of his mother's secret home remedies to get as much of the blood as he could out of the carpet in the master bedroom. Since it hadn't set in completely most of it actually came out rather easily, but there'd still been a slight pink tinge to the area. The carpet would need to be replaced eventually, but for the time being Derek had used a rug from the office to cover it up.

Emily straightened all the furniture that had been overturned or knocked out of place, then stripped the sheets and blankets off the mattress and started a load of laundry before placing fresh linens on the bed.

The almost overwhelming smell of blood that had been thick in the air was present no longer; it'd been replaced instead by the warm, sweet scent of vanilla from a few discreetly placed candles.

He was appreciative of all their hard work, and extremely grateful that the master bedroom at least appeared to be clean and inviting once again.

It was as though the entire afternoon hadn't even happened—like it was all just a terrible dream.

Spencer had always thought of their bedroom as a safe place where he felt protected, and Hotch hoped with everything in him that today hadn't completely destroyed that sentiment.

He heard the front door open, and he looked over to see Rossi enter. The older man had been outside with him, talking to the uniformed officers who'd just returned from the hospital while he'd been speaking with the other LEOs. Dave had grilled the poor rookies relentlessly, getting as much information on Simmons' condition as he could from them; and they'd appeared more than a little shell shocked by the man's interrogation, to be honest.

"Well, there's no way in hell he's getting out on bail this time," the Italian declared, a smug and satisfied look on his face as he walked toward Hotch.

Aaron noticed Spencer look up at the announcement, quietly watching the two of them, listening intently. He made his way back over to the couch and sat down next to him, taking Reid's hand in his and threading their fingers together.

"Are you doing okay?" he murmured.

Spencer gave him a small nod and a sideways glance as he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, then looked back to Dave, voice raspy and small, "How's, um...h-how's his condition?"

"Broken nose, black eye, and a few cracked ribs. Pretty much a walking bruise thanks to you," Rossi motioned to Hotch, then moved closer to them, "He's gonna need surgery for the knee. That was some shot, Kiddo...his injury is remarkably similar to yours." Reid looked down at his left leg and grimaced. "But he'll live," the man continued, "And he'll rot in prison, which is exactly where he belongs."

"You don't..." Spencer paused, chewing on his lower lip, "You—You really don't think he'll be released again?"

"I'd imagine not," Aaron softly assured, squeezing the trembling hand he held, "His actions today prove ill intent and that he's unstable. He's a high risk prisoner. He won't be getting out again."

"Yeah," Dave quipped, "Attacking a Federal agent in his own home and threatening his life in front of several eye witnesses is a sure fire way to have your bail revoked...and to show people just how bat-shit crazy you really are. He's not going anywhere, Spencer."

Reid looked back up at the man and snorted, a sad kind of a noise as he shook his head and closed his eyes. Then he sighed and sunk further into the couch cushions. He looked so incredibly tired and frail in that moment...weary; and Aaron wrapped his free arm around thin shoulders, pulling him in close as he placed a kiss to his forehead.

Still too warm.

"How are you doing up here?" he asked, brushing lips against heated skin before meeting hazel eyes.

Rossi had stepped away by then, probably to give them a little privacy, for which he was grateful.

"Um, okay," Reid instantly answered, then frowned, "I mean, I—I think I'm doing okay, I guess." He gave a shaky smile to the paramedics, who'd just finished with him. They were cleaning up their supplies and starting to move away as he looked back to Aaron, "It's strange, though. Kind of surreal, in a way...um, knowing there's someone out there who's _that_ adamant about wanting me dead. It's a little scary, even though I know he's locked up." He could feel Spencer's body tremble under his hands, then those beautiful eyes he loved so much grew sad and sorrowful, "But then again, I suppose you of all people kind of understand how that feels, don't you?"

He didn't know if he could answer verbally with the way his throat was constricting around a lump of his own sorrow, so he simply gave him a weak nod.

It was absolutely true.

He did understand the fear that came with being the target of a mad man. He'd lived with it for nine months while The Boston Reaper was free and hunting him. It had felt exactly like a nightmare—a nightmare that he couldn't wake up from.

But the thing was, he had.

In the end, he _had_ woken up.

He'd killed his nightmare. He'd felt the life seep out of George Foyet, and the instant that had happened he'd known he and Jack would be safe. He'd ensured that Foyet would never be able to threaten him or his family ever again.

Unfortunately, Reid didn't have that reassurance.

Spencer's nightmare was still breathing—he was still alive, if not altogether well.

That simple fact alone was solid evidence that Reid was a much better man than he was, because if he'd walked into their bedroom and witnessed any one of the horrific things that had been running through his mind, there would've been no hesitation on his part. He would have shot Parker Simmons in the head, at point blank range, and he would have fucking enjoyed it.

As it was, he'd almost beaten the man to death with his bare hands.

"Okay, Dr. Reid," one of the paramedics, a young man with a crooked grin and warm brown eyes came back over to them. He was holding an iPad in one hand and combing through his unruly brunet hair with the other, "I want you to take the motrin every four hours if your fever continues to persist. If you need to, you can alternate it with tylenol every two hours; and if it's not gone within the next twenty-four you'll need to see your doctor as soon as possible."

The EMT stopped and stared at Reid as though he were waiting for some kind of confirmation that his instructions had been understood. When Spencer made no effort to give any, Hotch quickly answered for him, "We will."

"Okay," the man continued, "Now, your neurological exam looks good, so it's not likely that you've got a concussion; but since you'd prefer to stay here instead of going to the hospital it would be prudent to have someone stay with you over night and all day tomorrow, just in case."

"I'll be with him the entire time," Aaron assured, "He won't be alone, and I'll be keeping a close eye on him."

"Good," the man, _Peter P._ according to the pin on his shirt, turned to address him, "Just make sure you can rouse him every hour, then ask him some simple questions. Where are you? Who's the president? How many fingers?" he held up three fingers in demonstration, and Aaron noticed Reid roll his eyes, "You know, simple things like that. If he can't answer any of them or becomes unresponsive, you'll need to call 911 immediately."

"I'm _fine,"_ Reid protested, meeting Aaron's gaze, "You don't need to do that; it's way too much trouble and you'll never get any sleep. We have work in the morning. We need to get some rest."

"Spencer, there is absolutely no way you're going to work tomorrow," he shook his head, trying his best to keep the disbelief out of his words, "And neither am I."

"Aaron, no, you don't have to do that—"

"I don't care," he cut him off, his voice low and serious, chest rumbling with that familiar fire of protectiveness, "It's what I'm going to do, so I would appreciate it a great deal if you'd just cooperate with me." The glare he focused on Reid left no room for argument. There was no way he would take any chances with Spencer's well being. Hell, if it were up to him they'd already be in the ER, but he was willing to compromise as long as he could ensure Reid was closely monitored. "And, if at any time during the night I feel like you're not really okay," he sternly added, "I'm taking you straight to the hospital. No protests."

There was a long, grumbling sigh, then an exasperated, "Fine," fell from Reid's lips.

Peter glanced between the two of them and then back down to his notes, swiping the screen as he chuckled under his breath. When he looked back up he cleared his throat, schooled his expression and continued, "Like I said, Dr. Reid, you're probably okay, but I'd feel a lot more comfortable leaving you here if I know someone will be watching you throughout the night. You've been through a lot today, and it never hurts to be a little cautious."

"Um, yeah...okay...I guess," Spencer hesitantly replied, mumbling as his cheeks flushed, "Ah, thank you."

"You're welcome." The man gave Reid another lopsided smile, then shot the same to Aaron before turning and heading out the door.

"I'm finished clearing the entry, Hotch," JJ joined them, her voice subdued, "And I think Morgan and Emily are just about done upstairs."

"Thank you again," he gave her a smile that matched the atmosphere, "For getting everything cleaned up."

"Oh, it's no problem—"

"Where's Jack?"

Spencer didn't look up or acknowledge JJ's presence at all as he asked the question, cutting her off in mid-sentence. He just stared at the floor, worrying his lower lip while his body rocked back and forth slightly. His voice sounded small, timid.

Aaron could tell he was anxious.

Reid hadn't actually been able to see Jack yet—there'd just been too many other things to deal with and Hotch had made sure Jack was kept away from the scene. He'd needed to ensure Spencer was really okay, and he hadn't wanted his son to see the blood or the broken glass covering the floor.

He hadn't wanted him to see Reid, for that matter—at least not in the condition Spencer had been in when they'd first burst through the bedroom door—so he'd sent the boy out to play in the backyard with JJ until Jessica arrived.

Reid probably wanted to see Jack with his own eyes—make sure he was really, truly alright.

"Baby, he's just out back with Jessica. She's gonna take him home with her for the night so I can take care of you."

"Oh no...Aaron, no!" Spencer's eyes grew wide, tears instantly brimming as he turned in his seat to look him head on. Nails dug deep into his arm, and he tried to ignore the biting sting that shot across his skin. "Please, Aaron," his voice was frantic, pleading, "I—I _need_ to see him! I have to make sure he's alright...don't let him leave before I see him—please..."

"Hey, shhh, it's okay. Sweetheart, I need you to calm down for me." He cradled Reid's face in his hands, meeting panicked eyes as he wiped tear tracks away from flushed cheeks. He could tell Spencer still had that damn fever, and it was probably making him even more emotional. "I won't let him leave here without seeing you. I promise. Alright?" He stopped and Spencer gave him a shaky nod, then added with a tired smile, "Anyway, he's been begging to see you too, honey; he's extremely worried about you. I had to make sure you were taken care of first, though; I just had to know you were okay."

"Yeah, but Aaron, I am. I'm fine," Spencer assured once more, his voice calming—but only slightly, "I have to see him."

"I know, Spencer. I know you do."

Just then, Morgan and Prentiss entered the living room; and their arrival drew everyone's attention as they made their way over to the couch.

"Hey, Kid," Derek crouched down, concern etched on his face as Spencer turned to meet his gaze, "How you holdin' up?"

"I'm fine," he repeated, sniffling as he loosened the death grip he still had on Aaron's arm, "I'm just tired, and, um...I really need to see Jack."

Hotch motioned to JJ, "Can you go get them from the back yard?"

"Sure, Hotch," she smiled, her eyes flitting over to Reid for just a moment before moving toward the kitchen and the back door.

As soon as she left he felt the tension in Reid's body slowly start to lessen; and a minute later the sound of little footsteps could be heard right before Jack's voice lit up the room...right along with Spencer's eyes.

Aaron hadn't realized just how excruciatingly dull and tired they'd looked before.

"Penny!"

Immediately Reid let go of him and fell to his knees on the floor; and Jack ran straight into his outstretched arms, the two clinging tightly to one another as though their lives depended on the contact.

Aaron was a little taken aback by the intimate sight, if truth be told. It felt like the wind had been knocked right out of him. There was a tremendous feeling of love between Spencer and Jack that was palpable in the air around them, and it made his heart beat just a little faster. He'd certainly known that Reid cared a great deal for his son, but he had no idea to what heights that affection had ultimately soared.

Looking around the room, it was obvious to him that the others felt it, too. JJ and Jessica had tears in their eyes, Morgan watched the exchange with a look of calm contentment on his face, and Rossi and Prentiss had bright smiles adorning their lips.

In that instant, all the weight of the day truly began to lift from his shoulders, and he let out another heavy sigh of absolute relief.

The day had ended well.

He heard Spencer whisper into his son's ear then, soft and gentle, and tears began to well up in his eyes.

"Jack, honey, are you okay?"

"Yeah," the boy answered, his face buried deep in Reid's hair while his arms squeezed tight around his neck, "But I was really, really, _really_ scared! There was so much yelling and—and I was afraid he was gonna kill you!"

"Shhh," Reid pulled back just enough to meet Jack's watery gaze, "He didn't, sweetheart. I'm okay, and he's gone."

Jack looked up at the bandage on Spencer's head, his chin starting to wobble as tears wet his cheeks.

"Oh, no. Hey Jackie, look...this? This is nothing," Reid soothed with a smile, gesturing toward the gauze as he shrugged his shoulders, "I promise you, he didn't really hurt me."

"R-Really? You really promise?"

"Yes, really," Spencer nodded, running a hand through Jack's hair, "I _really_ promise, I'm just fine."

"I'm s-sorry I didn't help you..." the boy mumbled, "I wanted to. I-I wanted to protect you."

That broke Aaron's heart, and he started to respond, but Spencer beat him to it.

"Oh but you did!" he smiled, hazel eyes sparkling, "You did help me, Jack...so, so much."

"But h-how?"

"You stayed in your room, just like I told you to," he quickly answered, "That was the best thing in the world you could do for me. You see, all I wanted was to keep you safe, Jackie. He could never truly hurt me as long as I knew you were okay."

"So you...you beat that bad man?"

"Yeah. We all beat him," Spencer answered, looking up to Aaron as his smile grew, "He's gone, and he can't do anything to us anymore. He can't hurt us."

"Then, you really are a superhero!"

Reid let out a breathy laugh at that and sat back on his heels, regarding the boy fondly. It looked like exhaustion was trying to take hold and he was attempting to fight it off, so Hotch leaned in closer and placed a hand on the back of his neck, gently massaging the muscles there—noting how tight they were. Spencer closed his eyes and hummed under the touch, and the corners of Aaron's lips quirked up at the sight.

Jessica took that moment to walk over to them, giving Hotch a weary look before bending down next to Jack and addressing Reid, "How are you doing, Spencer?"

"I'm okay now," he sighed, opening his eyes and meeting hers before glancing up at Aaron and then back down to Jack, "We're...we're all okay now."

"I think I should probably be getting him to bed," she said, motioning toward Jack as they all slowly stood, Aaron helping Reid to his feet, "But please call me if either one of you needs anything at all. I don't care what time it is."

"We will," Hotch agreed, giving Spencer's hand a quick squeeze before letting go and walking Jess and Jack to the front door.

"We'll see you both tomorrow afternoon," she murmured.

"Bye, Pen."

Jack waved from the door, and Spencer gave him a wave in return before sitting back down on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands. JJ and Prentiss took a seat on either side, murmuring things to him Aaron couldn't make out.

Turning, he picked up his son's backpack and handed it over to the boy as he bent down to his level, "Be good for Aunt Jess, alright?" When Jack gave him a nod, he kissed the top of his head and stood back up to address Jessica, "Thank you so much for taking him for the night."

"Of course. That's why I'm here." Her eyes darted to Reid once more, "Take care of him, Aaron. He's been through so much."

Too much.

The only thing Aaron wanted to do right now was take care of him.

He wanted to take care of Spencer for the rest of his life.

"I will," he promised again, then kissed her cheek and watched from the door as the pair got into her car and drove off.

The team said goodbye with hugs and well wishes soon after.

Garcia had been blasting Morgan's phone with frantic text messages, so he'd had to call her to calm her down. He gave her an update on the situation and assured her that everything was fine and that all of her babies were in one piece; then Spencer ended up having to talk to her for almost ten minutes before she'd truly believed he was okay. By the end of the conversation, however, Reid was grinning sincerely, and it warmed Aaron's heart to see a little bit of joy back in his eyes.

JJ gave him a motherly hug and made plans to bring Henry by as soon as he felt up to visitors, and even Prentiss got in on the action, wrapping her arms around him and staying there as she whispered something in his ear that Hotch couldn't hear. Whatever it was had the genius blushing, though, which was a bit curious.

Rossi told them both to take it easy, then gave Aaron a pat on the back and a devilish look, assuring them that he'd hold down the BAU fort while they were gone. That only made him nervous about what he might be walking back into when they did return to work.

He imagined that was the sole purpose of Dave's comment.

The ass.

And not long after, the two of them were left alone, sitting side by side on the couch as they listened to the heavy silence of the room.

It really didn't sound all that quiet to his ears, though.

He could still hear the chaotic echoes of all the things that had transpired earlier in the day.

He heard the gunshot that greeted them when they'd first arrived on the scene. At the time, he'd thought that sound was the sound of his entire world ending.

He heard Jack crying and people shouting.

Bones breaking.

Flesh tearing.

Reid yelling his name...

.

" _Aaron, stop! Please...please just come back to me."_

.

Sirens and radio static.

Questions...

.

" _Did Parker...honey, did he do_ anything _else to you? Anything at all?"_

.

Answers...

.

" _No, Aaron, I promise. I stopped him...before he could."_

.

Hushed murmurs.

The constant beep of a portable heart monitor.

The puff of a blood pressure cuff.

And somewhere deep, deep down inside of him, he could still hear the sounds of what had happened in the same house five years ago.

Lingering in his mind.

Those ghosts were coming back to haunt him as well, it seemed...

.

" _Promise me that you will tell him how we met, and how you used to make me laugh."_

" _Haley..."_

" _He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron. I want him to believe in love, because it is the most important thing...but you need to show him. Promise me."_

" _I promise."_

.

" _After I finish you, I'm gonna find that little bastard son of yours and I'm gonna show him both of his dead parents...and I'm gonna tell him that it was all your fault."_

.

" _Okay...you—you got me. I surrender..."_

.

" _Hotch! Hotch! He's dead! Hotch, stop! Come on, stop! It's over! It's over...it's okay. It's over, man..."_

.

" _I worked the case, Daddy. Just like you said."_

" _You did a great job, buddy."_

.

Their home had seen too much pain, and blood, and violence. He wondered if maybe it was finally time to let go and move on. Perhaps he should take his family away from this house and start fresh someplace new. Someplace that hadn't been consecrated in blood and death and suffering.

Someplace that didn't seem cursed.

When he heard Reid let out a sob, he pulled himself out of his musings.

"Spencer?" His voice was nothing but a broken whisper in the stillness as he wrapped his arms around Reid and tried to get him to look at him, "Baby, it's okay. It's all over now and you're safe. We're all safe."

Spencer's body quaked in his hold, but when the younger man raised his head there was a smile on his lips that reached clear up into his exhausted yet beautiful eyes. "I know," he laughed, fractured and wet, maybe a little manic, but still brimming with relief, "We're really okay. It's over, and we're all okay now..." He paused, then raised his brows and let out a huff, his shoulders slumping, "I—I can't believe I actually shot him, Aaron."

"I can. You did what you had to do to survive, and you kept Jack safe. You didn't give up. You fought him, Spencer. You fought him and you stopped him." His own voice cracked as a flood of emotions overwhelmed him. He could have lost so much, but he hadn't. His world was still intact because of Spencer—because he had remained in control and done what needed to be done. He'd saved them all, really. "I know I've already said it, but I'm so very proud of you, Sweetheart."

"I was so scared, Aaron," he rasped, "I was terrified he was gonna hurt Jack, and I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let him. I'm sorry...but, I was prepared to do whatever I had to do to keep Parker focused on me. I...I ended up saying some things that I didn't mean...and I let him—um, I...I let him...kiss me, and...I—" he stopped, his eyes filling with something besides exhaustion. Resolve, maybe; or sheer determination. "I don't think I could've lived with myself if he'd hurt him..."

"Like I said, you did what you had to do to get through it. I don't care what you told him, Spencer, or what you did. I don't care that you played along with him. The only thing I care about is having you and Jack safe. You'll never know how grateful I am to you for what you did today." He brought a hand up to card through Reid's hair, their foreheads meeting as he smiled, "You saved my _son,_ Spencer. You saved Jack, and you saved yourself. You truly are my hero."

"He said I was weak," Reid frowned, "He ah...he said I'd never shoot him."

"Well, I guess you surprised the hell out of him then, didn't you?" Aaron pulled away and quirked a brow, letting his mouth curve up into a sly grin.

"I shot him in the knee because I knew how excruciating it would be," Spencer confessed, "But then I didn't wanna stop. I...I thought about ending it right there, Aaron. I'm pretty sure I was going to. I think I was going to shoot him in the head, if—if you hadn't shown up when you did. So really...what does that make me?"

"Human, Spencer. It just makes you human." He tilted Reid's chin up, meeting their eyes, "And remarkable, because you didn't do it. _I_ would have. I think I would have shot him without question, but you didn't. You're one of the strongest people I know."

"Yeah?" he blushed and bit his lip, then captured Aaron's hand in his own, "I think maybe I'm kind of starting to figure that out."

They sat there for a few minutes, and he watched as Reid began to fidget more and more, growing increasingly agitated as he held tight to his hand. He was prepared to spend the evening assessing for signs of a concussion, but he had no idea what he was seeing right now. Spencer looked anxious, and his body was trembling—eyes darting around the room, never making contact with Hotch.

The behavior was starting to make Aaron nervous as well, and he wondered if the trauma of the day was finally catching up to the younger man.

"I, um, I also realized something else," Reid finally spoke, and those restless eyes met his own, "Or, well, I didn't realize it _exactly._ I mean, I already knew. I've known for a really long time, I just didn't say anything to you. I was scared, I guess. But then...well...then today happened, and I thought I was gonna die. I'm pretty sure he was gonna kill me...or, at the very least he was going to take me away from you. I was terrified that I'd never see you again, Aaron—"

Spencer started to hyperventilate, and he tried his best to calm him down, rubbing soothing circles along his back. "None of that happened, Sweetheart," he quietly murmured, "I'm right here with you, and he's not. He's gone now, and he didn't take you away from me."

"But Aaron, he _could_ have. This—This morning could have been the last time I ever saw you, and I don't even really remember most of it. I was afraid I was going to die without ever getting the chance to tell you how I truly feel." Reid looked back up at him, a smile spreading across his face and gleaming in his misty eyes, "I...I love you. I love you so much it hurts sometimes, but in the best way possible. I love you so much that it confuses me with its intensity. So much that when we're apart I feel like half of my heart is physically missing. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I want to watch Jack grow up by your side. I love him, too. I don't know when it happened, but I love him as though he were my own son. You've given me so much more than you could possibly ever even fathom, and I just..." he paused, letting the cutest little giggle bubble up and out of him as he chewed adorably on his lower lip, "I just love you, Aaron Hotchner."

Before he could stop himself, he was holding Spencer's head between his hands and kissing him deep and thorough, passion bursting from his heart...warming every single inch of him. He let all of his emotions from the day seep out into the embrace—the fear that had paralyzed him when he'd suddenly realized what was about to happen inside his home, the anguish he'd endured when he'd spoken to his son over the phone, and the tremendous relief that had washed over him when he'd entered their bedroom and found Spencer _alive._

So beautifully alive.

The overwhelming love he'd felt for the younger man ever since that cold and fateful night in Georgia poured out of him in that instant, enveloping them.

Tears fell unbidden from both their eyes, trailing down flushed cheeks and mixing with the all consuming kiss...tangling them up together until he wasn't sure where one of them ended and the other began.

Spencer was soft and strong and _fierce._ Immaculate and beautiful. He was fire and ice, crashing waves and calm waters, smooth and sharp. He was everything—absolute and infinite—and Aaron never planned on letting him go again.

When they were finally forced to pull away for oxygen, their foreheads met once more, resting comfortably together as they clung to each other—keeping them connected as they gasped for breath.

The air around them felt different somehow.

More electric, more volatile, more exciting.

When he thought he could speak louder than a whisper, he finally said the one thing he'd wanted to say for years, and he meant it more than anything else in the entire world in that precious moment.

"I love you too, Spencer Reid."

"Really?" Spencer asked, amazement and wonder evident in his voice, "You, you really love me?"

"Of course I do. Spencer, I've loved you for _years."_ There was a sigh from Reid, and he tightened his hold on the gorgeous face still cradled in his hands, "You and Jack, you two are it for me. You're my _everything_ , my entire _world_ , and today..." he paused, swallowing down the massive lump of raw emotion rising in his throat, "Baby, today I was terrified. I was completely terrified that I'd lost you. I was so scared that I would walk in here only to find that my world had been shattered. So yes, really. I love you, Spencer. I've loved you since Georgia, and probably before." His fingers stroked down Spencer's face to curl around the nape of his neck, "I think I may have loved you before I ever even knew you."

"Isn't that a song or something?" Reid laughed, a bright and shining smile on his face.

"Maybe," he grinned.

Or perhaps he was beaming.

Whatever he was doing, it made his cheeks hurt in the sweetest way possible. It felt a little surreal to have his feelings completely laid out in the open, but it was also a comfort to know Spencer felt the exact same way.

It felt right.

"You said you were afraid you were gonna die without ever telling me how you felt?" he asked after a moment.

Reid tilted his head and looked at him questioningly, "Yeah..."

Aaron wondered if he should even mention what had been said that morning—Spencer's fevered confession—but it was just too good to pass up.

"This morning," he began, a chuckle on his lips, "You were pretty out of it, loopy from the fever...it was a little scary to see, but also slightly adorable."

Spencer quirked a brow at that, but remained quiet as he waited for Aaron to continue.

"You told me then, Sweetheart. You told me that you loved me this morning."

Reid's brows furrowed and his eyes grew wide with surprise. "I...I don't—I don't remember that," he stammered, "At all."

"Like I said, you were pretty out of it."

"Hmmm, apparently," Spencer hummed, amusement clear in his tone and the smirk he wore.

"And since you were so delirious," he went on, "You probably don't remember that I said it back to you."

"You did?" The blush filling Reid's cheeks and the sparkle in his hazel eyes made Aaron's heart flutter. "So...I guess we kind of already had this conversation, then?"

"Well, not in so many words, but yes," he playfully answered, "I don't mind, though. We could repeat this conversation over and over again for the rest of our lives and I don't think I'd ever grow tired of it." He leaned in and gave Spencer one more gentle kiss on the lips, then stood, pulling the younger man up with him. "Come on, you've got to be exhausted. Let's get you up the stairs, changed, and into bed so you can rest." He saw Spencer's face fall at that, and it had him second guessing his words. Suddenly he feared Reid might not even want to step foot in their bedroom after the day's events. "We can sleep in your old room if you'd feel more comfortable there," he quickly added, "Or we can go somewhere else entirely. I can make a reservation at a hotel. I'll do anything, Sweetheart...just tell me what you need."

"Oh...um, no," Spencer shook his head as he held tight to Hotch's hand, "I'd still very much like to sleep in our bed, Aaron. It's not that, it's just..." he hesitated, "Are you, um, actually planning on staying up all night to take care of me?"

"Absolutely," he answered with a finality that left no room for argument.

"Okay," Reid sighed, quiet resignation laced in his tone, "But, if you're gonna be watching over me anyway..." a small grin formed on his lips, "Will you hold me while you do it?"

Aaron couldn't help but smile at the question.

"Of course," he softly answered, "There's nothing in the world I'd rather do, My Love."

.


	32. My Love

_Well, this is it...we've come to the final chapter._

 _It's kind of hard to believe, and I'm actually quite sad that it's ending, to be honest. I'm really going to miss this story._

 _When I first started writing it I had absolutely no idea that my little one shot would evolve into what it is now; and I also never dreamed that it would get as much attention as it has. All the likes, follows and comments are appreciated more than you know, and they really helped to keep me motivated when I was feeling unsure. (which was a lot lol)._

 _I felt that the subject matter was important, though, and needed to be told in a realistic way. I can only hope that I did it justice and treated it with the respect it deserves._

 _Thank you all so very much for the lovely support; and I hope you've enjoyed reading Spencer's story as much as I've enjoyed writing it._

 _It's definitely been a true labor of love._

 _~Ghost_

 _I hope you enjoy the final chapter, and just a warning...things get pretty hot and steamy ahead, and very explicit (in a good way, I hope!)._

 _;)_

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two

My Love

.

When Spencer woke, the first thing he noticed was that he was alone in bed; and the second thing he noticed was the rich, glorious smell of coffee floating in the air.

After his mind put two and two together, he concluded that Aaron must already be up for the day.

He wondered if the man had gotten any sleep at all, what with the constant neuro checks and mother henning that had gone on throughout the night. He'd truly believed he was okay, aside from some stiff, sore muscles and the constant fluctuation of his fever; but a part of him had still swooned at all the affection and attention he'd received.

Aaron had watched over him all night long, just as he'd said he would. The man had stood guard while he'd slept...held him close and protected him.

Made sure he was alright.

Kept him safe from harm.

Although, he knew that he was.

He knew he was safe; and he knew everything was really, truly over now.

Parker Simmons couldn't touch him anymore, physically _or_ mentally.

Of course, he also wasn't naive about it.

He realized his life wasn't going to suddenly be transformed into some picture perfect existence—that all the pain he'd endured over the last year wasn't going to just disappear.

There would still be bad days.

He wasn't miraculously cured.

He knew his struggle wasn't over, and that it would probably never _be_ over...at least not completely. There was no getting around the simple fact that PTSD symptoms didn't just vanish into thin air. He'd still have triggers to contend with, and he'd more than likely continue to suffer from flashbacks and anxiety issues while in certain situations; but he also knew that he could get through them.

All of them.

He could deal with whatever his mind tried to throw at him because he'd stood up to his real life nightmare...and he'd fucking won.

He smiled at the thought.

Then the scent of bacon began to waft into the room, mingling with the already tantalizing aroma of coffee, and he forced his mildly achy body out of bed, spurred on by the growl of his stomach.

After a brief stop in the en suite, he made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Aaron was standing at the stove cooking up a storm while humming happily to himself. He was dressed in a white cotton under shirt and a pair of light blue pajama pants, his bare feet tapping out a joyful rhythm on the floor. It was a normal scene for him to walk into on a Saturday or Sunday morning, but not during the week.

"I'm not used to all this on a weekday," he joked.

Hotch quickly spun around at his words and gave him a brilliant smile, those thousand watt dimples of his out in full force. "Well, after what you did yesterday I figured you deserved a hero's breakfast today."

"Please," he rolled his eyes, "I'm not a hero."

"Nonsense." Aaron dropped the spatula he was holding and moved up to stand right in front of him, placing the back of his hand against Spencer's forehead, then shifting it down to his cheek soon after. "You're _my_ hero," he mumbled, chest rumbling.

Reid just stood there quietly for a minute, relenting to the praise and allowing the older man to assess his condition. "So, am I normal?" he asked as the hand pulled away from him.

"That's a loaded question if I ever heard one," Hotch answered with a smirk, "But I don't think you have a fever."

"Wow. You're just hilarious, Aaron—"

His comeback was silenced by a kiss, soft and gentle as Aaron's hands came up to cradle either side of his face. It was short and sweet, and when they broke apart Hotch stayed right there, murmuring an "I love you" against his lips.

Heat rose to his cheeks and his heart soared at those three little words.

It was _real._

It hadn't been a dream.

He'd told Aaron he loved him last night, and the man had actually said it back to him.

Aaron Hotchner _loved_ him, and he felt elation roll through his chest at the confirmation.

"I...I love you, too," he shyly smiled.

Aaron brought his hand further up to ghost over the bandage on Spencer's head, the grin curving his lips fading slightly, "How are you feeling this morning, My Love?"

"Better. I'm a little sore, but..." he paused, realizing what Aaron had called him. That had been real too, it seemed. The day just kept getting better and better, and he beamed at the name, "Um... _My Love?_ "

"I like it," Aaron eagerly supplied, "Is it okay if I call you that?"

"Oh, I think I can probably find some way to manage," he coyly quipped.

Hotch chuckled, then moved back to the stove while Spencer headed straight for the coffee pot; and after he'd thoroughly sugared up a cup, he sat at the table and watched as the man he loved finished cooking breakfast for the two of them. Before he'd moved in he'd had no idea that Aaron even _liked_ to cook—let alone the fact that he was so amazing at it. It was something they had in common, he supposed; although Hotch was a much, much better chef than he could ever dream to be.

"I hope you're hungry."

Two full plates were placed on the table in front of him, loaded with scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns and toast; and Aaron quickly sat down in the seat beside him.

"Honestly, I'm starving," he sighed, eyes hungrily grazing over the spread before him, "I think the last time I ate anything was probably..." His voice trailed off as he lost himself in thought for a moment, his mind going back through the day before, piecing together all the events in as little detail as he possibly could, until it finally dawned on him that he'd never actually gotten around to eating anything for dinner. The omission hadn't been intentional, but after everything that had happened he'd just wanted to put the day behind him and go to sleep. "I guess it was lunch, ah...yesterday," he slowly concluded, frowning, "I haven't eaten anything since the pop tarts I had for lunch. Aaron...that—that could have been my last meal..."

"Well, that would've been quite a shame," Aaron teased, "Maybe to safe-guard yourself against that horrible fate in the future, you should stop treating pop tarts as a meal."

He scoffed at the ridiculous notion, throwing his hand out to playfully slap Hotch on the arm, to which the other man quickly responded by feigning hurt.

Once Aaron 'recovered', they ate their breakfast in a comfortable silence.

Mostly comfortable, anyway.

The house seemed just a little too quiet for his liking. There were no little feet kicking the table legs or tiny giggles filling the silence. There were no toys or books strewn about the dining room floor, no paper airplanes flying through the air. The morning's atmosphere was lacking something very important—something essential.

A piece of their family was missing, and the absence tugged at Spencer's heart stronger than he would have imagined.

"I miss Jack," he finally sighed, setting his fork down and looking toward the empty chair the boy usually occupied.

"I know. He'll be back this afternoon," Aaron assured, "Jessica planned on bringing him home after school unless something happened with you during the night."

"Oh...right." He'd completely forgotten about school. Even though he knew it was Tuesday, it still felt like it should be the weekend to him. Their routine had been wrecked beyond recognition by the events that had transpired the day before, and now his brain was trying its best to convince him that it was Saturday. "Thank you," he suddenly murmured.

Hotch stopped eating and looked over to him, confused, "For what?"

"For...well, _everything,"_ he answered matter-of-factly, "You saved me, Aaron. You gave me a place to stay when I had nowhere else to go. You helped me get well, helped me heal, allowed me into your life—into _Jack's_ life. You both gave me the strength I needed to be able to do what I did yesterday. If it weren't for you, I don't know if we'd even be sitting here right now. You have no idea how much all of that means to me."

"Well, you saved me, too," Hotch softly replied, taking his hand and kissing the back of it, "Our family didn't feel complete until you came into our lives, Love. I wish it had happened under better circumstances, of course, but I still wouldn't want you to be anywhere else. This is your home now, with Jack and me, for as long as you'll have us."

"Good," he smiled, "Because I don't think I'd ever want to be anywhere else."

With the declaration floating happily in the air, they finished eating, then Aaron stood to clear the table. "I'll clean up here," he said, moving behind Spencer and running his hands along Reid's shoulders and neck, squeezing gently, "Why don't you go on upstairs and take a shower?"

The pressure and movement of Aaron's fingers had him wanting to moan out in appreciation. He was a bit more sore and stiff than he'd thought he was, and the kneading action felt like heaven to his aching muscles.

"What ah...what about you?" he asked, bowing his head as he enjoyed the attention. Maybe if he just kept talking Hotch would keep doing what he was doing, "Have you showered yet?"

"Yeah. I took one while you were still asleep."

"Oh...um, okay. That's...that's really...really nice..." he trailed off, lost in the pleasure of the impromptu mini massage.

When the hands left his neck a moment later, he let out a pitiful whine at the loss.

"Go on," Hotch laughed, giving his shoulders one last gentle pat before picking up the dishes and retreating to the sink, "Shower. It'll help with the ache."

Reluctantly he stood, shot Aaron an appreciative smile and made his way back up the stairs. It was a little more difficult to go up them than it had to go down, and it took him back to the first few days after he'd moved in with the man. He remembered that first night in strikingly vivid detail...remembered having to cling to Aaron for support just to take a simple step—the pain coursing through his body almost unbearable.

It seemed like such a long time ago now...a lifetime, really. He kind of felt like he was a completely different person in a way, a better version of himself.

A more capable version.

A _stronger_ version.

That thought brought a smile to his face, and he grabbed a change of clothes from the dresser on his way into the en suite.

After starting the shower, he shed his pajamas and waited for the water to heat up to his customary scalding temperature before climbing in. He had to admit, it'd be nice to wash the copious amounts of dried sweat off his skin. His fever had broke several times throughout the night, and he felt more than a little disgusting because of it.

As he'd anticipated, the hot water beating down over his sore muscles was absolute bliss, and it worked wonders to ease the stiffness in his body; so much so that by the time he stepped back out of the tub and dried off, he felt renewed and revitalized.

When he reemerged in the bedroom wearing a clean pair of flannel sleep pants and a t-shirt he was slightly startled to see Hotch standing at the side of the bed, pulling the comforter down.

"Aaron?" he questioned.

The man turned to look at him, "Hey. How are you feeling now?"

"Ah, still a little sore, but much better." He took a step closer, his eyes moving curiously around the room, "You were right...about the shower. I think the heat and the steam helped to ease some of the pain."

"I'm glad." Hotch leaned in and kissed him softly, stroking knuckles along his cheek as his towel-dried hair began to drip water down his neck; and the sensations gave him goosebumps. "You seemed to really enjoy what I was doing in the kitchen," Aaron murmured, "So I thought I'd continue it for you up here, where it's a little more comfortable." He gestured to the bed, "Go ahead and lay on your stomach."

Spencer quirked a brow at him, waiting for some kind of an elaboration.

"I'll give you a massage," Hotch calmly smiled, "It'll help you relax."

He had no doubt about that.

He was pretty sure it would relax him, but he also thought that a massage from Aaron had the very real possibility of doing other things to him as well. Having those big, warm hands rubbing along his body...pulling, tugging, sliding across his skin...well, it was just a recipe for _other things_ , and a part of him turned absolutely giddy at the prospect.

After everything that had happened, he didn't want to waste any more time waiting around. He didn't want to find himself in another situation where he could possibly die without ever having felt Aaron inside him.

He wanted to share everything with the other man, and for the first time that thought wasn't met with any kind of fear or apprehension or anxiety.

There was no trepidation at all.

On the contrary, really...the idea was met with elation, excitement and great enthusiasm.

He was ready.

Right now.

He knew he was ready to give himself fully over to the man he loved, ready to surrender completely to him—mind, body and soul.

That was assuming that the human soul truly did exist, of course; and he was certainly beginning to think that it did. After all, he didn't know how it could be possible to love someone as much as he loved Aaron if it didn't.

"Are you okay with this?" Hotch asked, a hint of worry laced in the question and in his chocolate eyes, "Tell me no and we stop."

"No. Wait—" he snapped himself out of his thoughts, shaking his head, "I mean, yeah..." Sighing, he took Aaron's hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze as he smiled, "Yes, Aaron. I'm perfectly okay with this."

Letting go, he crawled into the bed and settled on his stomach, hugging his arms around the pillow below his head. A moment later he felt a dip as Aaron climbed up after him, and a heavy weight straddled his legs. Then those big, strong hands were on him, working his shoulders and upper back, kneading the muscles beneath his now slightly damp shirt. The movements seemed fluid and effortless as long fingers traveled across his body, and he couldn't stop the groan that escaped his throat as he melted under the expert touch.

"Your hands are like magic," he breathed, trying his best to keep from flat out drooling on the pillow as he relaxed further into the mattress, "How in the world do you even know how to _do_ something like this?"

He heard a chuckle from above, "I took a couple classes in college. Electives with Haley, mostly. At one time she'd seriously considered becoming a masseuse."

"Hmmm...I...I never knew that about you."

"Well, I may still have a few surprises left..."

He hummed his ready agreement as the hands began to slowly descend, continually rubbing and massaging everything in their path—leaving his skin buzzing in their wake. It didn't even matter that he still had his clothes on, although he kind of wished that he didn't as he mentally began to follow the movements down his back, silently naming every muscle and part of his spine as those magic fingers arrived there.

Aaron's hands slid slowly along his thoracic vertebrae, kneading his trapezius muscle, then his rhomboid minor and rhomboid major. They reached lower still to the lumbar vertebrae, pulling another moan from Reid as they worked a knot out of his erector spinae. The latissimus dorsi and serratus posterior muscles received some much needed attention soon after...they were tight and tried to resist, but eventually they too buckled under Aaron's skillful ministrations. There was the tiniest moment of hesitation where he felt the hands still at the small of his back, then they quickly dipped down to squeeze both gluteus maximus muscles before hastily ascending back up to his shoulders.

Spencer gasped at the touch, his hips rocking down into the sheets of their own volition. He could feel himself instantly getting aroused, heat starting to pool low in his belly as desire rumbled through his core. He was suddenly overwhelmed with all the sensations around him—Aaron's perfect touch, the lingering smell of vanilla in the air, the cool feel of the sheets now clutched tightly in his hands.

"Is this okay?" a soft voice asked, and he rutted down against the mattress once more in answer, feeling the hard, hot line of his own cock sliding between his abdomen and the bed. A warm weight blanketed his back and the hands left him as strong arms moved to frame either side of his head. Lips brushed over the nape of his neck. He shivered, breath hot at his ear, "You need to tell me if you're okay, Love. With words."

"Mhm," he gave a hasty nod, biting his lip to keep from moaning yet again, "I'm...I'm okay..."

His heart was pounding out an erratic rhythm in his chest as a hand trailed lazily down his side, stealing his breath while a surge of pleasure crashed through his body.

Lips kissed over his neck and shoulders, open-mouthed and hot.

Sloppy and wet.

Teeth nipped at his skin; torturing, teasing, tempting.

There was a distinct firmness pressing between his ass cheeks, and he instantly bucked his hips up into the sensation, pulling a groan from Aaron before rocking back down into the bed. He couldn't help but repeat the delicious movement, up and down...slowly gyrating and grinding as Hotch countered his actions, gently thrusting against him.

Easy and lazy.

He wanted to feel it all.

He _needed_ it all—everything Aaron could give him.

His body was begging for it, and his mind was screaming its wanton approval.

He had to see Aaron's face; wanted to look into those chocolate eyes and get lost in their loving depths.

When he tried to lift up, the body splayed over him instantly moved to allow the action, and he quickly turned to lie on his back. The change in position left Aaron sitting on his thighs, the heavy weight of the man's own erection now clearly evident through the thin fabric of his light blue pants—a darkened spot of arousal distinctly visible.

The sight sent another pulse of heat straight to his dick, and he had to force his eyes away, looking up to Aaron's face instead as Aaron looked down to his, each trapped in the other's heated gaze.

He seemed to have lost all control of his body somewhere along the way, and he wondered how he must look writhing beneath the other man. Before he could ponder the thought further, however, Hotch bowed his head low and joined their lips in a tender kiss; and Spencer's fingers came up to card through short hair. He pulled at the soft locks, bringing Aaron further down as he bucked up, meeting their clothed and aching arousals. A surprisingly long, and amazingly obscene moan seeped into the mouth above him at the contact; and Hotch took full advantage of the opening, quickly slipping inside as Reid continued to mewl.

Aaron lapped up every tiny little whimper of want that escaped.

Sparks of passion ignited a molten flow of pleasure low in his center as their bodies began to swell and slide together.

He'd obviously felt Aaron's erection before, but now it just seemed so much larger than he remembered. Still, though, his body burned for it. He yearned for every single inch of that massive cock to be buried deep inside him.

Aaron continued to roll down while he pushed up, and the two of them fell into a beautifully steady rhythm...moving in sync...undulating...enjoying the carnal dance as their shared passion grew into a burning blaze.

A fiery inferno.

His pants were damp and sticky with the evidence of his excitement, and he desperately wanted them _off._

Aaron pulled away from his mouth, shaking his head. "Spencer," he gasped, "Love, we—we don't have to do this right now."

"I know," he quickly nodded, breathless, chest heaving with the effort it took to speak, "I know we don't, but...but I _want_ to." He moved his hands to caress either side of Aaron's jaw, every cell in his body vibrating with desire, "I want _you._ Oh god, Aaron...I've wanted you for so many years. I promise, I'm ready for this. I don't wanna wait any longer; and after yesterday, I finally realized that I'm not as broken as I thought I was."

"Never, baby," Hotch purred, "I always knew you weren't broken, Spencer. Always."

"I—I want you to have all of me," he continued, smiling, "I want to move forward with you, take this to the next level. Please, Aaron..." He took a shuddering breath as his body arched up, hungry for more contact, "I love you, and I wanna feel every last inch of you inside me."

Aaron growled at that— _growled_ growled—and then dove back down to kiss him again. There was a lot more teeth and tongue this time, and Spencer eagerly opened up to take everything that was offered. His lips tingled and his skin sizzled from the heated embrace.

It was needy.

And desperate.

And hungry.

Hotch broke away, leaving Reid panting for more as he sat up on his heels and quickly shed his shirt, pulling it over his head.

Spencer marveled at the sight that greeted him. He hadn't actually seen much of Aaron's body—they'd always kept their clothes on for the most part—but now he couldn't stop staring at the vision in front of him. Hotch was gorgeous; all smooth planes and rugged features—broad shoulders, trim waist, sun kissed tan. He barely even noticed the nine scars that adorned the man's almost perfect skin...lighter than their surroundings, and slightly raised. They were battle wounds, but they didn't mar Aaron's body—they merely enhanced it.

They told a story; a beautiful, painful story of tragedy and the overcoming of it.

Of triumph in the face of evil.

Of strength through suffering, courage through fear.

He imagined they were alike in that respect.

Spencer had his own scars now, just like Aaron; and although they weren't quite as physically obvious, they were no less meaningful.

No less beautiful.

It was just one more thing that connected the two of them together...one more thing that made them stronger.

With that thought in mind he sat up, Aaron still straddling his legs, and brought his mouth to the man's well defined abdomen. It felt as though he were being drawn to it...like a moth to a flame...unable to stop his forward momentum as he kissed along the rippled muscles lying just underneath glistening, sweat-slick skin.

His mouth watered for it.

Craved it.

Couldn't get enough.

He could taste salt as his tongue danced around—exploring every inch, mapping every curve and crevice.

Aaron's musk surrounded him, covered him, consumed him.

Heavy and thick.

Heady and alluring.

As far as he was concerned, it had to be the most potent of aphrodisiacs.

His hands moved around to hover over the curve of Aaron's ass for just a moment before timidly cupping both firm cheeks in his palms. His grip grew more aggressive when a groan filled the air above his head; and he took a deep inhale, breathing Hotch's sweet scent into himself as his tongue dipped inside a warm navel.

Savoring every piece of Aaron he could get to.

The last time he'd done this—allowed his mouth to roam freely across heated, needy skin—it hadn't ended very well; but this felt different.

Better.

Hotter.

It felt like he was coming home.

He sensed an unmistakable line of solid, rock hard cock pressing wet and firm against his chest as fingers came down to thread in his hair, applying gentle pressure to keep him right there. He gladly stayed, letting his tongue and teeth advance over the skin of Aaron's abdomen and chest, mouthing up until he found a lonely nipple. He enveloped the sensitive flesh, swirling around it, feeling it harden under his touch; then he wrapped his lips tightly over the peak and began to hungrily suck.

Aaron hissed as he rocked his hips forward, pressing his erection further into Spencer's chest; then he was pulling back just enough to break their connection, tilting Reid's chin up—halting his ministrations as their eyes met. "You're exquisite..." he whispered.

Spencer keened at the praise, instantly lifting his hands above his head when Hotch hooked fingers beneath the hem of his shirt, allowing the garment to easily be removed. This was the most physically exposed he'd ever been in front of the other man, but somehow it felt totally natural.

Completely _right_.

Slowly, Aaron lowered him back down to the bed and claimed his mouth once more. There were nails running through his hair, teeth nipping at his lips, skin warming his—chest to chest; then that mouth was gone, moving its way along his jaw line and his neck. He arched into the wet heat as Hotch's tongue languidly trailed down his chest and abdomen.

"Aaron!" he startled, hands clutching into dark hair when that strong, damp muscle penetrated his belly button and began to fuck it. " _Oh god..._ Aaron..."

There was a chuckle by his groin, an erotic rumble of a noise that sent sparks flying through him. He felt a small tug at the waistband of his pants and quickly tried to lift his hips; but he was stopped by Aaron's husky velvet voice filling the heady air.

"Spencer, honey, are you sure that you truly want this? Because we can still stop—we can _always_ stop. You can say no, and it won't change how I feel about you. I'll still love you, baby, no matter what we do or don't do."

He swallowed thickly and tried to steady his breathing as he let Aaron's words pierce his mind, his body humming with unbridled anticipation.

He _did_ want this.

He wanted it so fucking much.

Aaron having enough wherewithal to stop and ask him in the aroused state they were both currently in—making sure he was still okay with it all—well, that just made him want it even more. He had no doubt that if he said the word, everything would stop immediately, without question or hesitation. He knew he was safe here, with Hotch, and he knew he was protected.

He was secure in what they were...and he was loved.

Looking up at Aaron's intense stare, he smiled and gave the man a nod. "I'm, um...n-nervous," his voice quavered for a moment, then steadied, "But, it's a good kind of nervous. I love you, Aaron, and I trust you with everything. I know that I can say no and you'll honor my wishes, but I don't want to say no. What I want is for you to make love to me."

The next thing he knew, his pants were pulled down and thrown haphazardly to the floor, leaving him completely bare, naked and exposed. He felt slightly self-conscious about it until he saw how his lover was looking at him, and then a blush crept across his face and neck. Hungry, lust-filled eyes raked over his body, but there was a softness to the intensity of the gaze that had him relaxing back into the mattress. His legs seemed to part on their own; and he felt his cock twitch with desire, hot flesh cool against the air around them.

"Beautiful. You are absolutely stunning," Aaron sighed, leaning down and softly tracing his fingertips along the sharp contours of Reid's shoulder, then up the long column of his neck, then his jaw until there was a hand cupping the back of his head. Lips made their way to Spencer's ear, purring, "You're the most gorgeous sight I've ever laid my eyes on."

He shivered as a jolt of fire ran down his spine, pooling hotly in his groin. He'd heard something similar before, but it had fallen from lying lips.

He truly believed it this time.

Aaron kissed him again, then rose up and climbed from the bed, moving to the nightstand. He rummaged through it until he pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom.

Reid watched with half-lidded eyes as Aaron sat the items on the edge of the table, then shimmied out of his pants, a solid and very impressive cock springing forth as blue fabric fell to the floor. The head glistened, a large bead of pearly liquid shining at the tip like a glorious crown.

Like a beacon, calling to him.

Showing him the way home.

His eyes drank in the sight with fervor; and when he saw Aaron's hand grip the base and start to stroke, he couldn't stop the groan that escaped...or the way his body reacted to the scene, wantonly spreading his legs wide. He opened himself up completely, back arching off the bed...pelvis gyrating...ass grinding...nails scratching across his chest, catching his nipples and leaving red streaks in their wake.

Soon, he would feel every inch of that thick, wet cock deep inside him; and the thought had him bucking into the air as his hands moved to clutch tightly to the sheets at his sides.

A moment later Aaron was back above him, settling into the V of his outstretched legs and claiming his mouth. Hips thrust down, and Spencer gasped as their now naked cocks came together for the very first time, velvet skin gently sliding against velvet skin, soft and slick, covered with arousal and fueled by mounting passion. Sparks of ecstasy surged through every part of him at the sensation, and his body quaked with the pleasure of it as he wrapped himself around Hotch. They rocked together, maintaining a steady rhythm as hard, hot flesh rubbed them both into a frenzy.

Aaron's tongue vigorously fucked his mouth, and he could barely keep up with the intensity of it...panting and writhing.

Moaning.

He almost didn't realize when the man pulled away, too lost in his own hazy euphoria.

By the time he did notice the loss, teeth were grazing along the skin of his inner thigh, inching slowly upward, and he yelped at the unexpected yet exciting location.

Hands instantly clamped around his hips, applying gentle pressure to keep him still.

"Shhh..." He could feel hot breath ghosting over his aching cock, warming it, and he whimpered at the feel of it. The hands holding him down started to soothingly caress his hips. "Baby, I wanna taste you," Aaron wickedly whispered, "I wanna wrap my lips around you and suck...wanna feel the heavy weight of you in my mouth...wanna lick up every drop of fluid you can give me. Will you let me do that?"

"Aaron," he moaned, looking down at the man laying between his legs—the man devouring him with his eyes. "Yes. Yes to...fuck...absolutely _all_ of that..."

He watched in amazement a moment longer, seeing _and_ feeling as Aaron's tongue licked up the underside of his dick. It swirled around the head, lapping at a bead of precum drizzling forth before tonguing the slit; then he witnessed his entire length disappear into hot, wet heat as that smirking mouth masterfully sunk down around him. He wanted to thrust into the hot cavern surrounding him, but hands remained on either side of his hips, prohibiting the action, so he thread his fingers into raven hair instead.

He could feel the vacuum of the man's mouth and the strength of his tongue pressing against him as Hotch began to suck up his shaft—trying to consume him. When Aaron reached the head, he swirled that tongue around the perimeter like it was a fucking lollipop before opening his throat up and swallowing him down once more, taking him all the way in to the hilt.

Pleasure shot through him with the repeated action.

His thighs tingled.

His body trembled.

Massive pressure rapidly built in the root of his cock with every pass.

His balls tightened, lifted—and he thought he might come right there, but he didn't want to.

Not yet.

He didn't want this to end...it was much too soon for that.

Not yet, not yet, not yet...

"Aaron—" his hands strengthened their grip in Hotch's hair as he whined, shrill and desperate, "I—I don't wanna come until you're inside me! _Please!"_

"Then you won't," came the immediate and breathy reply, the mouth around him releasing its hold with a wet, resounding _pop_.

Instantly there was a different kind of pressure wrapping around the base of his dick, firm yet tender, and it quickly halted his mounting orgasm, making him squirm with frustration...although, that's exactly what he'd asked for.

He didn't want to come without the man inside him, but he still wanted to come.

He _needed_ to come.

Aaron snapped open the lube with his free hand and slicked up his fingers, then looked directly at him, "Are you still sure, Sweetheart?" His voice was calm, but his face betrayed just how difficult it was for him to stop and ask the question, "Do you still want this? Do you want me to keep going?"

He didn't even need to think about it, and he kind of wished Aaron would stop thinking about it as well. He knew the man was just trying to protect him, and it was very sweet, but he didn't need to be protected right now. All his worries and anxiety about being intimate had long since vanished, and the only thing he wanted or needed in that moment was Aaron.

The only thing he was thinking about was Aaron.

There were no harsh memories lurking at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to come between them. There were no unwanted scents filling the air, or hateful voices snarling in his ear, or flashbacks trying to steal his mind away.

There was only the two of them, him and Aaron—the love of his life—together in the safest place that he knew. The rest of the world could be falling away and he wouldn't even care.

"Oh yes," he nodded, "Please. I want this...I want _you._ Of that, Aaron, I'm absolutely sure."

A cool, slick finger found his entrance immediately thereafter, easing past the tight outer ring of muscle and advancing until Aaron was knuckle deep inside him. His body tensed with the intrusion, and he hissed at the instant burn...his eyes slamming shut as his breath caught in his throat.

He held it there, not daring to move or exhale.

"Look at me."

"Wh-What?" he panted, trying his best to work through the sudden pain.

"Honey, please look at me."

Slowly he nodded, then cracked his eyes open to see Aaron staring down at him, nothing but peace and calm radiating from his beautiful face.

"Good, Sweetheart," Aaron smiled, his voice tender and warm, soothing to his ears, "I need you to breathe through this, alright? Don't hold your breath. It's gonna be a little uncomfortable for a few minutes because it's been a while, but just remember that you're with _me_ —no one else. I've got you and you're safe; and if you need to, you can tell me to stop at any time."

"I-I don't want you to stop!" he blurted, the words falling from trembling lips.

"I'm not," Hotch laughed, breathy and sweet as he slowly began to pull his finger out of Spencer's warmth, "All I'm gonna do is open you up, baby...so just try to relax and listen to my voice."

"O-Okay," he stammered, "I—I can do that." He _could_ do that, and so he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as the finger pushed back inside him. It hurt, but he knew it was a necessity, and he also knew he could get through it because Aaron was right there with him. Aaron was the one above him, working him loose and preparing his body...opening him up wide enough to take him in. "You know, Aaron," he smiled, "I think I could listen to your voice forever."

"I hope so, because I'm not planning on going anywhere." Aaron's finger continued to press in and pull out, and the burn quickly morphed into something else...something better—a pleasure-pain sensation that had Reid keening on the bed. "You are so beautiful," Hotch murmured, fluidly gliding in and out, seamlessly adding a second digit alongside the first, "Absolutely stunning." Spencer gasped at the new invasion, mouth slack and eyes closed as he listened to the other man's words fill the air. He tried to focus on the way they sounded, smooth and rich and low, and on the way he imagined Aaron's lips looked while creating them. "Seeing you like this..." the fingers began to massage his inner walls as they moved, coating him in slick. His hips rocked up, dick hard and straining, begging for friction, "Seeing you so open to me...it's absolutely breathtaking. And it's an honor, knowing that you trust me this much, Sweetheart."

"I do," he nodded, moaning, "Aaron, I do trust you...with—with everything..."

The next instant, Hotch did something mind blowing with his hand—with those glorious fingers. He hooked them, then twisted _oh fuck just right_ , pulling a lusty cry from the back of Spencer's throat as blissful waves of heat shot straight to his cock, filling it to throbbing, leaking hardness.

He arched up as hot, sticky precum drizzled from the tip, pooling on his stomach.

Warm arousal simmered low in his belly.

His mind was clouded in a thick haze of _more more fuck more_ , but when he heard the rustle of the condom being opened he snapped fully back into awareness. He didn't want anything separating the two of them. They'd been kept apart for far too long by circumstances and life, and now that they were right here, together, he wanted everything.

He wanted it all.

"Aaron, wait."

He opened his eyes and looked toward the man perched between his legs, a half-opened foil package dangling between his teeth.

Aaron had completely stilled, a frown marring his handsome features. "I'm so sorry, honey," he instantly apologized, the condom falling to the bed as he pulled his fingers away. Reid felt a hand come to rest comfortingly on his knee, rubbing soothing circles across the skin. "Are you alright?" Aaron asked, slight panic in his tone, "This was too fast, wasn't it? It was too much, too soon. We'll stop. It's okay, baby...I promise, I won't do anything else. God, I'm so so sorry..."

"No!" he smiled, shaking his head and halting the apology, "N-No, Aaron. Please...I'm—I'm fine."

He seemed to be unable to keep his body from squirming around all over the sheets. Aaron's willingness to halt everything at his request was astoundingly sweet, and even more of a turn on than it had been before, but that wasn't what he wanted.

He didn't want _anything_ to stop.

Not at all.

"I—I don't want you to stop," he clarified, "I just...I want to be able to feel every part of you. I don't want any type of a barrier between us. They—um, they tested me at the hospital...I'm fine; and like I said, I trust you. I want all of you, Aaron." He paused, bit his lip and nervously added, "I mean, if you're okay with it of course. If...if you want that..."

Aaron's expression was unreadable as he bent down, blanketing Reid's body with his own. Soft lips brushed across his forehead in a tender kiss, and then their eyes locked together. It seemed like the man was examining him closely, thinking about what he'd said, contemplating a response; so Spencer just quietly looked at him, bringing his hands up to twine in raven hair, smooth and silky soft between his fingers as he patiently waited for any kind of a reply.

He tried to ignore the rapid pounding of his heart.

He knew his request shouldn't be taken lightly. It was a huge step, and one that required a massive amount of trust on both sides. He'd be okay if Hotch didn't want to do it. He would show Aaron the same amount kindness and understanding that Aaron had showered over him, because they both deserved nothing less.

"I know I keep asking you this, and I probably sound like a broken record by now," Aaron's face softened as his voice pierced the silence, low and intimate, "But are you absolutely sure about all of this, Sweetheart? Is this really what you want?"

"Yes," he replied without hesitation, "I know I'm absolutely sure about _you._ " His heart fluttered at the small smile his answer evoked, "You...you told me last night that I'm _it_ for you, and that's exactly how I feel, too. You're it for me, Aaron. I never want to be with anyone else—only you. It's only ever truly been you...forever."

"Okay," Hotch simply sighed, the tiny smile he wore turning bright and joyous as he bowed his head, murmuring against Reid's lips, "Only us, then. Forever."

His mouth was taken in a demanding kiss as both their cocks once again made contact, fluids mingling, igniting a renewed surge of passion between them.

A kind of urgency like he'd never felt before.

Tongues darted into shared heat, tasting one another, licking and massaging, tickling the roof of his mouth. Teeth nipped and teased, then Hotch pulled away just enough to meet his gaze, panting.

"Are you ready for me then?"

His toes curled at the tone of Aaron's voice. It was the same sweet, smooth, rich sound he'd always adored, but there was something else laced within it—something sultry and suggestive, something sinful and sensual.

"Yes," he gasped, canting his hips in invitation.

There was a growl as Hotch lifted off him, but it wasn't protective.

Not this time.

This time it was hungry, and wild, and carnal.

He watched with captive eyes as Aaron poured a very generous amount of lube into the palm of his hand and began to slick himself up. Fingers circled around the large cock standing at attention, slowly moving along the shaft, and Spencer could feel his body burning for it. As Aaron's hand got closer to the tip, an ample bead of precum seeped out, and he moaned at the erotic sight.

He wanted—no, he _needed_ to touch—so he sat up once more, timidly looking to Hotch before bringing his own hand up to surround the base of the man's dick. Aaron released his grip, and Spencer was surprised by the substantial weight of what he held in his hand...heavy and thick and hot. He could feel every ridge and vein covering the glistening surface as his fingers began to slide up the wide length, moving closer to the leaking crown. It was mesmerizing, and when he reached the apex he flicked his wrist just right, twisting his hand and drawing a string of _oh fuck right there god you're amazing_ from Aaron's lips before squeezing around the circumference and sliding back down.

Aaron's hips met his movements, thrusting into his hand as he worked over the straining flesh. The motion was lazy, up and down, twisting and squeezing, moaning and panting...and he lost himself in the single solitary action.

That was, until Aaron stopped him, gently pushing him back down to lie on the bed. Almost immediately he could sense a hard presence pressing right up against his ass, and his body quivered at the feel of it.

They were face to face, sharing air, pupils blown wide with lust for one another.

"I love you..." Aaron murmured, hesitating...dark eyes darting back and forth, studying him one last time as a hand ran through his damp hair, "Are you completely certain you're ready?"

He gave him a nod, "Yes, I want you to—"

That was all the confirmation Aaron needed, apparently, because his words were abruptly cut off by an immense burn as the man began to push slowly inside him. His breath hitched and his eyes snapped shut, face crumpling with the sudden and unexpected pain. He could feel his muscles stretching, almost ripping to accommodate the wide girth of the intrusion. Aaron was so much bigger than what he'd been used to, and in that moment he feared he may not be able to handle all of him.

No matter how much he wanted it.

Lips pressed firmly against his neck, covering his pulse point, and he heard a low moan claw its way out of Aaron's throat; then a calm, velvet voice broke through the ache, soothing him.

"Breathe, My Love. You need to _breathe._ "

He gave another quick nod, letting out a shaky breath and gasping for more with a choked whimper.

"Shhh. There you go. You're doing so well. I've got you, Spencer. I've always got you, baby...just keep breathing for me."

His hands came up to clutch tightly to Aaron's back, and he tried to focus on the feel of the muscles rippling and shifting beneath sweat-slick skin as he took several deep breaths.

Inhaling and exhaling.

Slow and steady.

Slow and steady, just like the rock hard shaft inching its way forward, burying itself deep inside him, filling him, advancing until his body had opened up and swallowed the entirety of it. Their groins slotted together perfectly, like two long lost puzzle pieces; and he could feel the weight of heavy balls nestled hot and secure against the curve of his ass. He was so full, so tremendously full; and that pleasure-pain sensation magnified, teasing him as his muscles spasmed and twitched around the welcome yet painful presence.

"Look at me, Sweetheart."

When he finally opened his eyes, he saw warm chocolate staring down at him. Aaron was draped over him, strong arms on either side of his head, keeping most of the man's weight off him. "H-Hey you..." he sighed through a shuddered breath.

"Hey, beautiful," Aaron smiled, winded, "God...you're absolutely magnificent." Fingers carded through his hair, "Tell me how you're feeling."

"F-Full." His voice quivered and his body shook, he licked at his lips, "I—I feel full. S-So full with you—with all of you inside me. It hurts, but...but I don't want you to leave."

"Never. I promise I'm not going anywhere, Love." Aaron captured his trembling lips in a kiss, then murmured against them, "We'll go slow. You just tell me when you're ready, and then I'll start to move." He nuzzled their noses together, purring, "I can't wait to feel you squeeze around my cock as you come..." Aaron's voice turned downright wicked at that, and the words sent a pulse of desire directly to Reid's dick, "...and while your lost in all the pleasure I've given you, I'm gonna let go and lose myself in your gorgeous body." There was a smirk, "Would you like that, My Love? Do you want me to fill you up? Do you want me to come deep inside you?"

"Oh, _god_..." he enthusiastically nodded, his cock throbbing, weeping at the thought of Aaron claiming him in such an erotic way—such an intimate, carnal, primal way. "Please, Aaron...yes," he whispered, "God, yes...I—I want that more than you could possibly know...so, so much more..."

They stayed right there, staring into each other's eyes as his body began to adjust, growing more and more comfortable the longer he was stretched open. After a few minutes all the pain he'd felt had dissolved away, leaving only pleasure remaining in its wake. It was titillating...teasing of imminent things to come...leaving him with an almost overwhelming need to feel the cock he was impaled on begin to move. He rocked his hips experimentally, eliciting a groan of approval from Aaron as the motion sent a flutter of desire through both of them.

There was a chuckle from above, then Hotch was pulling back, and his muscles clenched around the man's shaft, trying desperately to hold onto the heavy flesh as it slowly slipped from his tight heat. When it felt like he was almost empty, Aaron bowed down and thrust his tongue into Spencer's mouth, simultaneously mimicking the action with his cock.

He could sense every single inch as it rubbed against his inner walls, and the advance didn't stop until Aaron was fully sheathed inside him once more.

It was absolute rapture, pure and firm and hot. He wanted more, and he moaned his need into the mouth above him as his nails raked down smooth, slick skin. Hips began to move at a slow and steady pace, pushing in and pulling out, over and over.

Repeating.

Repositioning.

Driving him into a wanton frenzy of need.

A keening whine scratched its way from his throat as he arched his back, skin sizzling for more contact.

He was surrendering to his desire...letting Aaron plunder him in every way...continuing lazy open-mouthed kisses as the man fucked him into the mattress. It was all sloppy and messy and a little incoherent, but he really didn't care. He was melting into sweet bliss...enticing and seductive...his lover urging him on as he writhed below.

After one profound drive home that left him seeing stars, he broke away from the kiss, breathless and gasping.

"You...you f-feel amazing," he panted, biting at his lip as he wrapped his legs more securely around Hotch, pushing his hips up to meet every single thrust, "So...so fucking good..."

"Oh, but so do you, Love," Aaron coyly murmured, lips hot against his skin. "You're so tight..." he dove deep, whispering, "...so hot..." he nipped at his neck, teasing, "...so deliciously sweet..." He lifted his head and met Spencer's hazy gaze, a hand coming down to cup Reid's ass as his pace quickened. "Are you mine, Spencer?" he softly asked, rutting down again and again, "My love...my joy...my everything? I wanna hear you say it, Sweetheart. Tell me if you're mine..."

"I am," he instantly replied, the fog of his arousal lifting just enough to comply. He smiled up at the man of his dreams—the man he loved more than life itself, all sweaty and sticky and beautiful—and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was most definitely his. Unlike before, however, he also knew that Hotch didn't actually _own_ him. He knew he was his own person, yet somehow it felt like he was Aaron's as well...and that Aaron was his. They belonged to one another; and they were made to fit perfectly together. "I'm completely and totally yours, My Love."

Aaron's chest rumbled against his, a growl of possession filling the air as he thrust down harder, faster—pushing further inside with each pass; and every so often the head of his cock would hit the most glorious sweet spot, sending a shiver of unimaginable ecstasy flitting up Spencer's spine and cascading low into his groin.

The intensity of everything was staggering.

All he could _feel_ was Aaron—surrounding him, covering him, penetrating him.

All he could _smell_ was Aaron—swirling in the air, filling the space around them, thick and rich...sweat and sex mingling in the most delectable of ways.

All he could _hear_ was Aaron—panting and moaning, whispering sweet adorations in heated bursts across his skin.

The next thing he knew, a warm pressure was covering his own cock, lying hard and heavy with need against his belly. Aaron's hand tightened around him, stroking in time with every thrust; and he didn't know what he wanted more—the dick fucking his ass or the hand jerking him off.

He didn't know, so he took both, greedily rocking up into the fist and down over the cock. Up and down, moaning and gyrating, pressure building in his groin from all the sensory information bombarding his mind and his body.

Overload.

There was a tingle, a twinge of fire spreading down his thighs and filling his balls...slipping up his aching shaft.

Creeping...edging closer to the head.

He was quickly flying toward sought after culmination.

"Let go, Love," Aaron whispered, coaxing with long strokes, a flick of his wrist and a snap of his hips. Skin slapped against skin, filling the room with its lecherous chorus. "Let go and come for me," he purred, "Let me set you free..."

The words spurred him on, pulling him ever closer.

So fucking close.

"A-Aaron!" he stammered, "I'm—I'm s-so close..."

"Sweetheart..." there was a snarl of a command against his skin, soft yet forceful and demanding, " _Come. For. Me._ "

He did.

He obeyed without hesitation, coming quick...and hard...and _loud._

A scream ripped from the back of his throat as a prism of color erupted across his vision, and he poured his essence out in hot, thick cords over Aaron's strong hand. His world was utterly rocked down to its foundation; everything a blur—all pure euphoria, erotic bliss, and heavenly rapture. His body quaked through waves of shimmering pleasure while the hand continued to milk him for all that he had. His chest sparkled—iridescent, warm and sticky with copious release—heaving from exertion as he gasped for air.

Aaron's pace quickened, ruthlessly pounding deep into him; and Spencer desperately clung to his back, wrapping his arms around him and holding tight as he was vigorously fucked through his continuing orgasm.

Soon, though, the relentless hammering slowed and then faltered.

He felt one last monstrous thrust forward, then the body pressing into him stilled as Aaron collapsed on top of him, groaning as he buried his face in Spencer's neck and came in prolonged and stuttered bursts.

There was a tremendous pulse, followed by a colossal wave of heat, the cock inside him spilling in hot streams.

Giving him everything.

Coating his deepest depths and filling him to excess.

He stared into chocolate brown eyes, basking in their loving warmth as his legs tightened around Aaron's waist, keeping him _right there_.

Keeping them together.

He had no idea how long they stayed just like that, their chests heaving against one another while they shared soft kisses and gentle caresses—bodies interlocked as they gave in to the pleasure of the moment.

Sticky, sweaty, messy.

It was utter perfection, and he didn't think he ever wanted it to end.

He felt like they were connected in a much more intimate way than mere physical contact. They were connected on some massive cosmic level; and he could sense every molecule of his body pulling toward Hotch, longing to be united.

At some point Aaron's voice, soft and gentle, broke the silence, "That was...absolutely indescribable."

"It was..." he breathlessly laughed, smiling wide and joyful, "It really, really was...in the best way, though."

"In the perfect way," Hotch countered, running fingers through Spencer's hair, "Are you sure you're alright?"

He could tell Aaron was slightly worried about him, but the man had absolutely nothing to fear, and he wanted to ensure that he knew that. "I'm more than alright," he answered, bringing his hands up to cradle Hotch's face, "Aaron, I'm perfect. I _promise._ This was wonderful, and you're amazing, and I love you."

There was a small huff, and the smile Hotch wore warmed his heart, "I love you, too."

After a few more minutes he felt Aaron's softness slowly slip from inside him, leaving him empty, and he couldn't stop his whimper at the loss.

"I'll be right back, Sweetheart," Hotch murmured, kissing his forehead before rising from the bed.

"Mhm..." he hummed, lazily observing as his lover moved into the en suite.

His body was sated, yet he still seemed to be longing for more...more of Aaron's touch and scent and voice...more of his mere presence. He didn't think he could ever get enough of the other man, and when Hotch returned a minute later with a wet rag and a clean towel his heart fluttered at the sight.

He watched as Aaron climbed back onto the bed and settled in beside him, gently beginning to clean him up. It was an intimate act so completely different than what they'd just done, and perhaps even more meaningful because there was no promise of a pleasurable reward for the effort—Hotch was simply doing it because he wanted to. The act was soft and sweet, tender and kind, and done purely out of love. Aaron was taking care of him, and he let himself fully relax into the mattress as he enjoyed the feel of the warm cloth stroking across his skin. He was mesmerized by his lover's face, gentle and calm as he took careful care with every pass, washing the evidence of their intimacy from his body.

When Hotch was done, Spencer rolled onto his side and snuggled close, and Aaron pulled the covers over them as he wrapped Reid up in his arms.

They both let out a long, satisfied sigh.

"Thank you," he murmured, lifting his head to look Aaron in the eyes.

"For what?"

"For this. For today, and every day that came before..." his hand moved up to rest against Aaron's chest, feeling that steady, strong, comforting beat beneath his palm, "And for every day that comes after this. For the past and the present...and for the future. Thank you so much for waiting for me."

"Oh, Love," Aaron cupped his cheek and met their lips in a tender, chaste kiss, "There was never any other option for me. You were absolutely worth waiting for, and you always will be."

"I really do love you, Aaron."

The arms around him tightened, pulling him closer; and he wrapped himself around Hotch, nuzzling into his chest.

Strong and safe.

Warm and secure.

A rumble ran through his body as the man spoke.

"I love you too, Spencer, with everything that I am. I'm completely yours." Aaron cradled the back of Reid's head, gently scratching his scalp as he placed a kiss against his hair; and Spencer smiled at the action. "No matter what happens in the future, you won't have to face it alone. I will always be here for you and I will always love you."

"I know, and I'll always love you, too," he vowed, and he meant every word as he traced lazy circles across Aaron's chest, "We can get through anything...together."

"We most certainly can. But for now, just rest. I'll keep watch."

"Do we have time?" he sleepily asked, "Before Jack comes home?"

"Yes, My Love," Aaron chuckled, "We've got some time. We can stay here for a while."

"Good," he sighed, pressing further into the comfortable embrace, "Because I don't wanna be anywhere else, Aaron..."

He wanted to live in this moment, right here, for the rest of his life.

Maybe he could.

This moment was his future—and it felt bright and amazing and wonderful.

That was all he really needed.

He didn't need the promise of an easy life, free from pain and hardships. That was a completely unrealistic expectation. He knew there would be more struggles, more things for him to work through, more unsubs to catch and inner demons to fight; but that was okay.

It was okay because all he truly needed were the people around him.

The people who'd helped him through the darkness and brought him back into the light.

The people who'd picked him up when he'd fallen; who'd carried him when he'd been too tired to walk.

The people who'd come when he'd called.

Who'd found him when he was lost and broken.

Who'd helped him heal.

Who'd set him free and let him soar.

Aaron and Jack.

His friends.

His family.

He had everything he could possibly wish for, and as he allowed his eyes to close, he felt himself drift softly to sleep in Aaron's loving embrace. The arms around him never faltered, but instead held strong throughout his slumber, keeping him safe and secure.

Warm and protected.

Treasured and adored.

 _Home._

He was finally home; and for the first time in forever, he knew that he was truly, deeply, and unconditionally loved.

. 

_**Come along with me and don't be scared.  
I just wanna set you free.  
You and me can make it anywhere.  
But for now, we can stay here for a while.  
'Cause you know, I just wanna see you smile. **_

_**\- Charlie Puth**_

.

Fin

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	33. Time Stamp Notification

Hey, everyone. This isn't a chapter, but it is a notification to let you all know that I'm posting some one shots/time stamps to this story if you're interested. There were things I wanted to put in the main story, but they never actually made it there. I don't know how many there will be, but if you'd like to be emailed when I post them, please subscribe to me. I wish there was a way to let you subscribe specifically to the One Call Away series, but alas there's not.

The first time stamp will be posted momentarily, and it's titled "The Honor of Stargazing".

It's fluffy and sweet.

Thanks so much for the support!

~Ghost


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